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1 1IW 1 111 Will ii US 





Museum of Comparative Zoology 









A deep mysterious sympathy doth bind 

The human heart to Nature's beauties all ; 

We know not, guess not, of its force or kind, 

But this full well we know, — When ill doth fall 

Upon us, when our hearts are sear'd and riven, 

Tis then we seek the shade, and raise our eyes to Heaven. 

R. Nicol. 





Agent for Dublin, John Wiseheart ; Edinburgh, J. Menzies ; 
Glasgow, John M'Leod, 66, Argyle Street. 





Another half-year has very quickly passed away. Again are we called 
upon to offer a few brief observations whilst issuing this our Fifth Volume. 

Since our last Preface was penned, th<; whole aspect of affairs has undergone a 
change. Magic itself could not have worked a greater change. War has usurped 
the place of Peace. The world is universally disturbed. Very many of our 
excellent friends have been called away by ' ' duty " to a Foreign land. The 
inhabitants of the earth are running hither and thither in a state of restlessness. 

Literature, too, has quite altered its healthy tone. The better class of our 
Cheap Periodicals is, we are told, fast dwindling down in sale to zero. Two of 
them, in self-defence, have actually been compelled to commence a New Novel 
in their columns. These, " written to order," are doled out in weekly installments ! 

There is no denying the fact, that public taste now inclines towards the vilest 
and cheapest trash. Countless Shilling Volumes, tricked out in grotesque green 
covers to attract the eye, are the order of the day, — their contents, for the most part, 
injurious in the highest degree. These are devoured by young and old ; master 
and mistress, man-servant and maid-servant. All swallow greedily the mental 
poison prepared for them. Wholesome food for " the mind " is not wanted. It 
is out of fashion. 

At this peculiar crisis, prudence bids us (for the present) back out of the field. 
The race is too " fast " a one for our breath to keep up with. The " odds " 
being against us, we regard our mission as ended. We retire from the course with 
an empty pocket. Thai might be expected (for we have fought bravely to the 


very last) ; but as an equivalent, we preserve, intact, a tender heart and an honest 
conscience. We have labored hard to do good ; and we scarcely need remark that 
philanthropic pursuits are not " remunerative." 

What our labors have been for the last few years (and our heavy loss by the 
venture), stand recorded in our Five Volumes. But such a phalanx of honorable 
men and women have we had as supporters, as have rarely fallen to the lot of any 
one public man. We acknowledge it with thankfulness, and speak of it with 
pardonable pride. 



Kidd's Journal owes little indeed of its popularity to the Editor. It is to 
the Contributors that all praise is justly due. By their noble sentiments — as nobly 
and honestly expressed, they have given birth to a standard work, — imperishable 
in interest, and one which has done good to an incalculable extent both at home 
and abroad. Better than all, — it has " won," not forced its way to the hearts of 
the people. 

May Our Journal long continue to extend its genial influences (for we 
sincerely believe it will never die) ; and may ages yet unborn " take a leaf out of 
Our Book," — for which, in after time, they may feel inclined to grant us their 
blessing ! It is " something " to live for posterity. 


New Road, Hammersmith, 
July 1st, 1854. 


Affection of a Mother, 128 

Amusements in Scandinavia, 5 

Ancient Verulam — a Pleasure Trip, 307 

Animal Heat, 247 

Instinct, 81, 145 

Animal and Vegetable Kingdoms, The, Com- 
pared, 364 

Ardent Spirits,— England's Curse, 187, 247 

Artificial Flower Making, 188 

Ass, Longevity of the, 56 

Astounding Facts in Nature, 260 

Atmosphere, Nature of the, 256 

Auto-Biography of a Dog, 41, 103, 171, 237, 298, 

Avarice and its Horrors, 372 

Bathing in Russia, 328 
Beauty— What is it? 128 
Bees, 145, 253, 315 
Biblical Curiosities, 375 
Birds, Killed by Frost, 61 

Longevity of, 60 

Our Spring Visitors and their Food, 209 

Brain, The Human, 125, 320 

Bullfinch's, A, Eggs, sucked by a Slug, 54 

Butterflies of the Valley of the Amazon, 122 

Cant and Hypocrisy, 257, 258, 268, 316 

Canaries Living and Breeding in the Open Air, 
120, 371 

Canary, The, 120, 280, 370, 371 

Cat, The, 58, 312 

Cats,— proved to be "Vermin," 312, 370 

Cats and Mesmerism, 55 

Chameleon, Habits of the, 264 

Cheerfulness for Ever ! 315 

Chesnut, — Notes on the Edible, 137 

Children, Happiness of, 206 

How to Correct, 64 

Sympathy of, 328 

China, Spring Flowers in, 118 

Chinese, The, and their Wonderful Feats, 261 

Chloroform, Danger of Inhaling : Another Hor- 
rible Death ! 319 

Climbing Plants of South America, The, 255 

Coliseum, The, at Rome, 342 

Cow-fish, The, 250 

Cricket, Anecdote of a, 127 

Crime and its Increase, 314 

Cruise, A, in a Lobster Smack, 325 

Crystal Palace, The, at Sydenham, 52, 258, 316, 
350, 367 

Daisy, The, 109 

" Death in the Pot ! " 366 

Delicacy,— What is it? 126 

Devonshire, Beauties of, 6, 74, 131, 184, 198 

Early Spring in, 123 

Mild Climate of, 187 

Dew, and its Phenomena, 69 
Dog, The, 41, 43, 103, 154, 171, 237, 298, 356 
Domestic Duties, — not beneath a Woman's no- 
tice, 248 
Dormouse, The, 191 

Elephant, The, 313 

England, Notes on, by an American, 143 

English Churches and English Women, 250 

English, The, in Italy, 110 

English Women and English Landscapes, 252 


Analysis of Society, An, 204; Auction, An, 113 
Babies and their Smiles, 349 ; Bright Side of 
Nature, The, 193; Ceylon, Recollections of, 12 
Colney Hatch, 33 ; Destiny, Fate, and Conduct 
129; Dignity and Duty, 9; " Doctors' Com- 
mons," 135 ; Fashion's Looking Glass, 204 
Friendship, 119, 314; God made the Country, 
65 ; Happy Thoughts, 1 ; Hope, 4 ; Humanity 
and Inhumanity, 273; Infidelity, 320; Inno- 
cence, Guilt, and Suspicion, 257 ; " Laugh and 
Grow Fat ! " 208 ; Little Kindnesses, 17 ; 
Living and the Dead, The, 300; Love Lane, 
263 ; Man and his Food, 141 ; Man and his 
Idol, Gold, 338 ; Meditation and Books, 353 ; 
Natural History, On the Study of, 234 ; Our 
Early Flowers, 97, 163, 225 ; Our Wild Flowers, 
291 ; Our Mirror of the Months, 35, 105, 174, 
229, 293, 358; Philosophy, The, of Common 
Life, 370; Plurality of Worlds, The, 324; 
Profound Talkers, 336 ; Prose and Poetry, 271 ; 
Reason and its Shadow, 33 ; Rome and Naples, 
3 ; Snow Balls, 50 ; Sympathy and its Delights, 
321 ; Tongue, The Human, 72 ; "The Man for 
me ! " 305 ; Thoughts on the Ivy, 67 ; Truth 
and Falsehood, 289 

Family Reform, 335 
"Farewell!" 338, 376 
Fashion, 184, 204, 245 



Female Figure, The, A Curiosity, 244 
Flies, A Curious Collection of semi-torpid, 58 

Notes on the House-fly, 303 

Flowers and their Delights, 56, 1 18, 186, 370 
Flowers and Flower Seeds, 181 
Fly-Papers, A Word on the Use of, 303 
Fox, Habits of the, 223 

Gad-Fly, Natural History of the, 354 
Garden, A pretty, at a nominal cost, 187 
Gas, — Unfit for Dwelling- Houses, 207 
Geology, On the Study of, 107 
Glasgow and its Immorality, 61 
Glass and Porcelain, Notes on, 192 
Gnat, Notes on the, 161 
Goatsucker, The, 370 

Green-house Plants, — How to treat during 
Summer, 316 

Harmony of Nature, The, 344 

Heathenism in London, 64 

"High" Art, and "Low" Art, at Sydenham 

Crystal Palace, 367 
Himalaya Screw Steamer, The, 45 
" How is he Getting On ?" 363 
Human Brain, The, 125, 320 
Hungary, — Social Life in, 140 

Indications of Spring, 125 

Insects, Lepidoptera, &c, &c, 57, 161, 188, 248, 
249, 254. 

and their Uses, 313 

Jay, The, 76 

Journey, Notes on a, in the South of France. 
By T. N. Talfourd, Esq, 343 

Ladies of Canada, The, 332 

Learn " Something" Daily, 186 

" Let us All pull together !" 374 

Life in its Lowest Forms, — The Infusoria, 157 

Life and its many Objects, 371 

Lily of the Valley, To cultivate the, 249 

London Streets during a Snow-storm, 64 

London, The Size of, 374 

Magpie, The, 76 

Maids and Bachelors, by " Viletta," 303 
Malta,— A Visit to St. Paul's Bay, 333 
Man, an Ape, 184, 375 

a Savage, 125, 184, 375 

Wherein does one Man differ from Another? 

Man's Contempt for Nature, 253 

Kindness (!) to Man, 375 

Marriages in Greece, 272 

Matrimony and its Advantages, 312 

Mechanics, and their Institutions, 8 

Meeting and Parting, — A Comparison, 337, 376 

Mesmerism, — A most Remarkable Cure by the 

Agency of, 302, 350 
Mesmerism, — Annual Meeting of the Members 

and Friends of the Institute, 350 
Method, The Advantages arising from, 375 


Air of Kent, The Wonderful, 246 ; April and its 
Charms, 190; Bells of Metal, 189; Benevo- 
lence, 320 ; Changes, 55 ; Choose well, and 
wisely, 376 ; Climate of Lapland, 250; Cocoa- 

nut Matting, 251 ; Comic Duet, A, 320; Com- 
pany, Choice of, 110; Curious Calculation to 
illustrate Population,250; Draught in Chimneys, 
Cause of the, 192 ; Dress, The Insane Love of, 
71; Duke of Wellington Steam-Ship, 319; 
Early Rising, 255; Education, 45, 128; Em- 
ployment, 373; Epitaph on an Infant, 374; 
Evening Thought, An, 373; Eyes,The, — not to 
be Trifled with, 251 ; Flowers, To keep Fresh, 
316; Fruit, To keep Fresh, 316; Genius, 372; 
Good Temper, 119; Gratitude, 14; Harmo- 
nium, The, 126; "Home" Hints, 247; Im- 
portance of a Word, 16, 347 ; Insect Thief, An, 
254 ; Joys of Early Spring, 18 ; Labor, 372 ; 
Little Children, 191; Locality, 122; Mercy for 
the Unfortunate, 234; Milk Tree, The, 188; 
Monster Steam-Ship, 316; Moral Degeneracy, 
66; Motion, 246; Nervous Debility, 246; 
Pleasing Experiment, A, 194; Pond Mud — its 
Uses, 247 ; Private Thoughts made Public, 
376; Purity of Heart, 82 ; Red Men of North 
America, 123; Rheumatism, A Cure for, 123; 
" Ring " the Belle, please! 372 ; Royal Albert 
Steam-Ship, Launch of the, 320; "Salt, the 
Curse of England ! " 121 ; Saturn, The Planet, 
255; Simplicity, 247; Sincerity, 268; Spirit- 
Rapping, 252; Superstition, 247, 315, 317; 
Tahitan Love- Letter, A, 121; Thought, The 
Value of, 348 ; Tight Lacing, 189 ; Toothache, 
Odd Remedy for the Cure of, 315; Vowels, 
The, 247; "Under the Rose," 61 ; Whitlow, 
Cure for a, 251 ; Widower, The, 374 ; Woman 
—dear Woman ! 374 

Mitford, Miss, A Reminiscence of, 259 

Modern Education, 58, 204, 353, 36V 

Mole, The, 152 

Moon, The — Its Influence in Tropical Climates, 

Mount ^Etna by Night, 268 
Moustache Movement, The, 375 
Music and its Associations, 127 

Naples, and its Wonders, 342 
Naturalists, Notes for, 78 
Nature, The Modesty of, 183 

The Sensibility of, 94 

Nightingale, The, 373 

Northern Seas, — their Brightness, 128 

" Number Seven," 317 

Obituary :- John Martin, 159 ; Professor Wilson, 
243; George Newport, Esq., F.R.S. (Naturalist), 

Panopticon of Science and Art, 191 
Pantheon at Rome, The, 342 
Photography, Notes on, 133, 203, 292, 322 
Phrenology for the Million, 37, 100, 168, 231, 

Pictures of Life,— All "Portraits," 138 
Pigeons, 189, 330 
Pike, The, 48 


A Beam of Braided Moonlight fell, 373 ; A Little 
Seed at random thrown, 135; All's for the 
Best, 325; Appearances Deceitful, 108; As 
Spring upon a Silver Cloud, 243; Beauty, 229, 
331; Begone, Dull Care, 76; Bell, Maud, and 

Kate, 264; Bright Days of Summer, 261; 
Charms of Early Spring, 133, 216 ; Chorus of 
Flowers, 143; Clouds and Sunshine, 240; 
Come ! Sing those tender words again ! 32 ; 
Come to the Trysting Tree, 200; Consumption, 
333 ; Cuckoo, Invocation to the, 175 ; Daisy, 
The, 109, 176, 229; Day-dreams of Youth, 
215; Delights of Dreaming, 67 ; Delights of 
Spring, 216, 233, 254; Despise not thou the 
Wild-flower, 137; "Dolly Pentreath," 338; 
Don't tell me of To-morrow ! 270 ; Dreams are 
the Poet's Birthright, 9 ; Dreams (Delicious), 

351 ; Elopement, A Hint, 345 ; Fireside Joys, 
3 ; First Violets, The, 12 ; Flowers, 254 ; Fond 
Hearts for Ever ! 102 ; Gentle Summer Bain ! 
302; Gentle Whisper, A, 244; Give me the 
Twilight Hour, 183 ; Go forth into the Country, 
271; God hath a Voice, 32; Good Nature, 

352 ; Hail, Lovely June ! 276 ; Hail, Memory, 
Hail ! 301 ; Happiness, Secret of, 342 ; Here 
comes Lady June! 269; Home! 368; Hope, 
275 ; How do I Live ? Listen ! 16 ; How many 
Times do I Love thee, dear? 300; How the 
blithe Lark runs up the Golden Stair ! 244 ; 
Human Folly, 42 ; I cannot make thee Dead ! 
275; I cannot say, "Farewell!" 163; I 
Dreamt that the Friendship of Happier Days, 
40; If I were a Voice, 134; I love an Open 
Countenance, 344; I love the Night, 203 ; Is 
it not "Nice?" 264; Is it not Sweet when 
Music's Melting Tone? 136; It is Spring! 
195 ; It might be,— and " Why not?" 272 ; It 
was a Lovely Eve in June, 313 ; Keep me 
"Out"— if you Can! 341; Leave thee? 
Nay, dearest"! 260; Life, 260; Light of 
Other Days, 338 ; Love One Another, 50 ; 
Love and Fancy, 37 ; Lovely Spring, we 
wait for thee ! 82 ; Lover's, A, Compliment, 
160 ; Marriage, 44 ; May-day, 228 ; Meet me 
in the Primrose Dell, 141 ; Mellow the Moon- 
light to Shine is Beginning, 151 ; Me thinks I 
Love all Common Things, 336 ' Morning of 
Life, The, 160 ; Mother and Child, 138 ; 
Music and Sleep, 50 ; My Daughter's Birthday, 
324 ; My Old Companions, 144 ; My Village 
Maid, 20 ; Natural Piety, 349 ; Nature's Own 
Child, 148 ; Nature's Own Nobleman, 40 ; 
Nature's Voice, 224 ; Nature and her Lover, 
152 ; Nay, do not touch that faded Flower ! 
309 ; Never Give Up ! 208 5 No ! " Why " 
Should I ? 236 ; Ode to Music, 104 ; Oh, would 
some Cottage Home were mine ! 140 ; Our 
Early Violets, 105; Picture of Night, 268; 
Poetry of the Earth, 293 ; Poor Veronique, 5; 
Power of True Love, 288 ; Right and Wrong, 
292 ; Say — Have you in the Morning? 18 ; See, 
the Shadows now are Stealing, 303; Silent Love, 
197; Slander, 352 ; Song of theMarch Winds, 71; 
Song of the Sunbeam, 80 ; Sorrow's own Song, 
112; Sower, The, to his Seeds, 52 ; Spring, — I 
Love Thee ! 73 ; Spring's First Levee, 149 ; 
Summer, 271, 322 ; Take back, dear Maid, the 
Blushing Flowers, 77 ; Talk to my Heart, oh 
Winds ! 96 ; Tell me what thou lovest best, 79 ; 
There is a Garden in her Face, 329; There is 
no Sound upon the Night, 335; Think "gently" 
of the Erring, 234 ; Thrush, The, to his Ladye 
Love, 255; To the South Wind, 218; True 
Friendship, 76 ; Under my Window, 264 ; Vir- 
tue, " Sleeping," 48; Voice, The, of the Gipsy 

Queen, 330 ; What is " Noble? " 317 ; What's 
" Time " to thee,— my Merry Boy ? 300 ; When 
the Gentle Morn is breaking, 19 ; Why should 
the Young despair ? 98 ; Woman's Faithfulness 
160 ; Yes, thou art Ever Near Me, 18 ; Young 
Love, — A Song, 334 

Post, The, and Our Friend the Postman, 206 

Post Office, The, and its Wonders, 312 

Potato, The, 59 

Poultry, 47, 186, 238^ 

Profitable Reading, Notes on, 366 

Prospect and Retrospect, 16 

Rabbits, — Directions for Rearing and Breeding, 

Railways, 64, 126 
Rain Water, Notes on, 310 
Ramble, A, near Dorchester, 57 
Rats, Instinct of, 128 
Reasoning, The Art of, 143 
Religion and "its Conveniences," 191 


Angler's Almanac, The, 87 ; Band of Hope Re- 
view, 87 ; Beauty and the Beast, 28 ; Brage 
Beaker with the Swedes, by W. B. Jerrold, 25; 
British Sea- Weeds, by the Rev. D. Lands- 
borough, 222 ; Buds and Blossoms, 28 ; Cabinet 
of British Entomology, by C. W. Harrison, 223, 
314 ; Calendar of the Seasons, by Mary Howitt, 
20 ; Canary, The, A Cage, Open- Air, and 
Chamber Bird, by W. Kidd, 280 ; Elements of 
Health, by Dr. E. J. Tilt, 158 ; Evenings in my 
Tent, by Rev. N. Davis, 221 ; Familiar History 
of Birds, by Dr. Stanley, 276 ; Ferguson's 
Poultry Book, 87, 223 ; Flowers from the Gar- 
den of Knowledge, 29 ; Hogg's Instructor, 86 ; 
Household Words, 94 ; Himalayan Journals, 
by Dr. Hooker, 218 ; Illustrated London Maga- 
zine, 84 ; Illustrations of Scripture from Botan- 
ical Science, by D. Gorrie, 26 ; Indications of 
Instinct, by Dr. Kemp, 89 ; Lardner's Museum 
of Science, 26 ; Leisure Hour, 29 ; Little Ferns 
for Fanny's Friends, 21 ; Life in Childhood, or 
the Amyott's Home, 280; Midland Florist, 
The, 29 ; Memoirs of a Stomach, 287 ; Natu- 
ralist, The, 83, 152, 221, 345 ; Nugje, &c, by 
Rev. J. Banks, 158 ; O'Byrne's Encyclopaedia 
of the War, 288 ; Poems, by W.Molyxnen, 158 ; 
Poems, by A. Maudslay, 347 ; Rural Economy, 
by M. Doyle, 91 ; Seasons of the Year, 23 ; 
Sweet South, The, by Eleanor Darby, 348; 
Voices of Nature, by Dr. Cheever, 347 ; Zoo- 
logical Recreations, by W. J. Broderip, 154 

Music, 158, 224 

Robin, The, 251,311,370 

Russia — Character of its Army and Navy, 217 

Climate of, 254 

Salmon, Artificial Propagation of, 254 

Salmon Ova sent to New South Wales, a Failure, 

Selfishness and its Horrors, 376 
Silkworms, 252 

Skeleton Leaves of Plants, &c, 375 
Smell, Taste, Touch, 117, 318 
Snow Pancakes, 53 



Snow Storm of January (1854), 46, 126 
Society in America, 332 
Sound and its Sympathies, 368 
Spider-catching Fly, The, of Van Diemen's Land, 

Sponge, Natural History of the, 290 
Spring, its Effect on the Sap in Trees, 123 
Spring and the Feathered Tribes, 116, 183, 245 
Spring and its Joys, 197, 245 
Squirrel, Life of a Tame, 146, 195 
Starling, The, 121 
Sunflower, The, A True Lover, 186 
Swallow, The, 311, 345, 371 
Swan, The, 361 
Swift, The, 346 
Sympathy of the Poor for each Other, 59 


Emigrant's Lark, The, 111; Original Artist, The 
241 ; Patchwork Quilt, The, 77 ; Stop Nature 
—if you Can, 177 ; Tale of Love, 222 ; Un- 
finished Picture, The, 49 

Tench, The, 48 

" Throwing the Hatchet !" 371 

Time and Space, or the Power of Locomotion, 

Titmouse, The Blue-headed, 53 

Tree Labels, 250 

Trees, Bark-bound, 249 

Commemorative, 256 

Umbrella Bird, The, 122 
Uranus, The Planet, 64 

Vegetable Kingdom, The, 149 

Life, 14 

Vegetation, Varieties in, 64 
Violets, A Bank of, 108 
Vital Principle, The ; What is it ? 156 
Vivarium, A Fresh Water, 59 

War and Pestilence, Ravages of, 127 

Wasp, The, 319 

Water, Purification of, 270 

Water Lily, The, 251 

Wild Men of the Himalayas, 250 

Willow, Cultivation of the, 253 

Winter, Joys of, 118 

Wives, — Useful, and Useless, 191 

Wolf, Affection of a, 156 

Woman, — Her Chief " Accomplishments," 184 

A, Well-dressed (a Rarity), 256 

Fashion's Hobby-horse, 184 

Woodcock, Eggs of a, Hatched by a Fowl, 188 
Workmen and their Employers, 120 
World, The, A Paradox, 189 

As good now as Ever it was, 312 

Wrecks at Sea, — Admiralty Register of, 315 

Zoological Folk Lore, 99, 167, 215 


As a man must of necessity oftentimes keep his own 
company, it behoves him to take care that his " com- 
pany" be as good as possible. Addison. 

Retired thoughts enjoy their own delights, 
As beauty doth, in self-beholding eye. 

Man's mind a mirror is of Heavenly sights, — 
On which, reflected, distant things draw nigh." 

ho would begin a new 
Year, — and the New 
Volume of a favorite 
Periodical, without a 
happy thought ? Not one of 
our readers, we feel sure ; 
for they are a " happy 
family," of whom we feel 
proud indeed! Much du we delight to honor 
them. Long may they live to share our 
delights and pleasures. Long may we live 
to enjoy their countenance, and to divide our 
heart with them — it is freely theirs. People 
cry out "What a wicked world this is!" 
Who are they that make it wicked ? The 
world is bright as ever. It is its inhabitants 
who defile it. 

Leaving the world, however, and its own. 
to pursue Fashion and Folly as they will, 
and to yawn away the time they know not 
how to improve or enjoy, we will to-day 
luxuriate in the feelings peculiar to those 
only who love nature and the God of nature ; 
turning all they see into profitable meditation, 
and viewing everything that is done under 
the sun in its brightest and fairest aspect. 
"The cloud with a silver lining," for us. 
We flee with disgust from all who would 
dwell on the dark side of nature. It savors 
of an evil spirit, — a morbid love for the 
dismal, — breathing an unwholesome, a pesti- 
lential atmosphere that poisons all within 
the range of its baneful influence. No ! 
Smiles and tears shall sweetly alternate ; 
and sympathy shall make life one round of 
perpetual sunshine. Let us herald in the 
New Year with these sentiments. 

Well ; our subject is to be — Happy 
Thoughts. Now, to be happy, one must be 
cheerful. No grudging, close-fisted, narrow- 
minded man or woman can be happy. No 
cold-blooded, avaricious man of the world 
can be happy. No envious, cross-grained, 

Vol. Y.— l. "" 

jealous individual can be happy. The happy 
face must be the reflex of a happy heart ; fond 
of doing good, and living only for the benefit 
and welfare of society. If the tree be thus 
good, the fruit will be choice indeed ! 

With these feelings ever dwelling in our 
breast, we often wander forth, even at this 
season, for a long walk. Fond of company we 
are, truly ; but we could not reasonably ex- 
pect any one of Eve's fair daughters to brave 
the elements of January with us, and therefore 
we go alone. We love to be alone, unless 
we have a kindred companion ; and as among 
our own sex we are fairly puzzled whom to 
choose, we prefer to keep our own company. 
This brings us at once in medias res, — to the 
very marrow of this Paper. 

No sooner are we equipped for a walk, and 
fairly out of the house, than our mind imme- 
diately wanders into Fairy-land, — the very 
region of happy thoughts. This not once, 
but always. The moment our back is turned 
upon the " Great City of the Plague" (as we 
call London), we are in the enjoyment of 
perfect freedom. We are moving in another 
world, and conversing mentally with genial 

It is quite refreshing to note the healthy 
tone of a contemplative man's mind, when 
he is beyond the contaminating influences of 
a cold, calculating, money-loving, purse- 
proud world. It is this which makes us such 
an advocate for a country life. Eegardless 
of the trammels of fashion, we seek the fields 
whenever inclination leads us there ; and 
visit many a pretty little village snug in its 
rural retirement. Not a single object that 
we pass on the road but affords some cause 
for wonderment, and leads to a pleasing train 
of thought. The air of Heaven — so pure 
and so fresh — cheers both soul and body. 
We look up, and worship. We gaze around 
us on every side, and admire. Ail we behold 
tends to our mental improvement ; and creates 
in us feelings of benevolence. 

A true philanthropist is your lover of 
Nature. He loves God, and wants all the 
world to love Him too. His delight is — 

To go about rejoicing in the joy 

Of beautiful and well created things ; 

To see, and hear, and breathe the evidence 

Of God's deep wisdom in the natural world. 


And it is at these times, if ever, that he 
may be called truly happy; seeing that 
virtue, innocence, and good-will to man, are 
the sole objects that occupy his thoughts. 
His benevolence is mirrored in his " happy" 
countenance ; and as he trudges merrily 
onwards, he feels that he has no wish un- 
satisfied. He covets no more than he has. 
We do not say how long these Elysian dreams 
last. Too well do we all know that, in this 
lower world, clouds and sunshine must hold 
alternate sway. It is well that it should be 
so — nor would we wish it otherwise. 

" Happy thoughts" are our special delight. 
We revel in them without end, as we stroll 
abroad and think ;; of the past, present, and 
future. They crowd one upon the other in 
the most rapid succession ; each " dissolving 
view" introducing some long-cherished re- 
membrance, and adding one other to our 
already countless " happy thoughts." 

And have we not millions of " little 
things 1 ' — those graceful amiabilities of which 
we have held recent profitable converse — to 
make us happy ? Oh, yes ! Was there 
ever proprietor of any periodical more 
favored than we ? In two short years — we 
call them " short," because of the pleasure 
they have brought us — we have not only 
become a public character, but we have won 
so many hearts that we really stand amazed 
at our position. We speak not of common 
acquaintanceship; but of the sweetest ties, of 
the purest friendship. A mighty magician 
is our grey-goose quill ! 

Some men feel flattered by being at the 
head of a popular Journal ; and boast of their 
talent and success. Without wishing to 
boast, let us say we have achieved this — and 
how much more? From one end of the 
country to the other — among the very best 
society, are open doors and open hearts set 
before us ; with a sincerity of welcome, too, 
that makes us love the world better than 
ever. Of this distinction — so unusual — we 
ark proud. It lightens all our cares, draws 
forth the finest feelings of the human heart, 
hallows all our disappointments, buoys up all 
our hopes, — and makes us a philanthropist 
in the broadest and most significant sense of 
the word. 

How very many there are, who, though 
we have never seen them, yet write to us 
freely as to an old and much-cherished friend ! 
Papas, mammas, sons, and daughters, — all 
recognise us, all do us pleasing homage. Can 
we walk abroad and ruminate on such things, 
without running riot in the happiest of 
thoughts ? 

And what of those many dear, loving souls 
whom we have seen — and with whom we 
have conversed? Can we think of them 
and their multitude of "little kindnesses," 
without delight ? How many choice flowers, 

— commencing with those of early spring, 
and ending with the "last rose of summer" — 
has the postman brought us during the past 
year, — dispersing their fragrance through the 
folds of an envelope, and telling " in the 
language of flowers" the amiable feelings of 
the senders ? These — and what beside? 

Were we to expatiate (as our pen and our 
heart would gladly do,) on the subject we 
have chosen, we should exceed all bounds. 
Our drift, however, will be readily seen ; and 
our object appreciated. We want to create 
a better feeling among society ; and to work 
upon the kindly feelings of the human heart ; 
to drive out the superficial, and to make way 
for the natural. Life is very short. Why 
then should we not be truly happy whilst we 

We did purpose, when we first nibbed our 
pen, to enumerate some few of our " very" 
happy thoughts, — showing how by " sym- 
pathy" we could walk, and actually behold as 
well as converse with certain of our dear 
friends at a remote distance ; but as this is a 
delicate subject to discuss on paper, we will 
only hint at it. There are those who will 
perfectly understand us ; and enter into the 
depth of our sentiments. Suffice it, if we say 
that on all such occasions we are " never 
less alone than when alone." Our heart is 
full of guests. 

Among some of our happiest thoughts, 
have been the many additions made to our 
goodly company of subscribers by certain of 
our earliest companions, and the associates 
of by-gone days. They have, one by one, 
heard of Our Journal; wondered if their 
" old friend" was the " veritable Simon 
Pure;" and finding he was so, given him the 
heartiest of hearty welcomes. What pleasure 
this! It makes our old heart rejoice. Odd 
is it, however, that some few of our quondam 
friends, whom we loved most dearly, yet 
stand at an unapproachable distance from us. 
There is no sympathy. Our love for man- 
kind, and our plain-speaking, comport not 
with their views of life. Fashion, the world's 
follies, "dignity," and exclusiveness, bar all 
the avenues to their hearts. Has this caused 
us a sigh ? Oh, how many ! Well ; we love 
them still — and they know it. 

We have said nothing about the varied 
objects which lend an additional interest to 
our walks and rambles, — such as the happy 
birds, animals of all kinds, rejoicing in their 
liberty and freedom, and many other things 
which tend to the happiest of happy thoughts. 
These may, at a future time, be profitably 
and pleasantly alluded to. We never go 
abroad without turning everything we see to 
some account, and return home with a heart 
happy as it well can be. Early Spring, too, 
is coming. What a lovely prospect ! 

We have already begun the New Year 


after this same old fashion of ours. And we 
still declare our old sentiments to be un- 
changed. We study to love — and be loved; 
and we verily believe that we shall die in this 
" faith." If it makes our thoughts so happy 
whilst we live, our death may be anticipated 
without a sigh or misgiving. 

"Little children, love one another," is the 
gentle command which encircles our heart. 
It will be found there long after we shall have 
been gathered to our fathers. 



How pure is the joy in the Husbandman's breast, 
As he hies from his toil to the home he loves best ! 
Though wearied with labor, he does not repine ; 
For his dear little cot, with its blessings, combine 
To chase away sorrow, and cheerfully hide 
E'en a semblance of grief from his bright fire-side. 

He knows gentle hearts are awaiting him there, 
His slippers are placed by the old easy-chair ; 
And his children are waiting with anxious delight 
To have but his blessing, and wish him " good 

And see, — from the lattice, his wife has espied 
His presence who gladdens her bright fire-side. 

A kind note of welcome now falls on his ear ; 
The way has been long, and the path dull and 

Their looks reveal more than their lips can express, 
As each one in turn shares a gentle caress; 
All care is forgotten, his heart beats with pride 
As he joyfully rests by his bright fire-side. 

No riches could cause him the thrill of delight 
That cheers his kind heart as he pictures the sight ; 
Nor could music create a sensation so sweet 
As the dear voice that welcomes him. Happy to 

In the breast of each other they fondly confide 
The heart's dearest wish by a bright fire-side. 

His children now gather around him, to share 
Some proof of his kindness, affection, and care ; 
And each has a tale of amusement to tell, 
Or some childish grief that his smile can dispel. 
He prays God to bless them, and still to provide 
The comforts they share round a bright fire-side. 

Now supper awaits him. Though homely the 

The pure air of comfort is felt everywhere ; 
In a tankard of ale, with its white tempting foam, 
He pledges his love bythe dear name of "home," 
And shuns those temptations that seek to divide 
The Englishman's heart from his bright fire-side. 

There yet is another, whose welcome reveals 
But a tithe of the faithful attachment he feels ; 
He has listen'd for him since the close of the day, 
And with what joy he welcomes him ! — honest old 

A kind, grateful heart, beats beneath that rough 

hide, — 
There's a warm place for thee at the bright fire- 
side ! 



Rome and Naples, though only about a 
hundred and thirty miles apart, and in- 
habited by a population of the same faith, 
the same language, and of kindred blood, are 
singularly unlike. 

Rome is situated in the midst of a sombre 
plain, is without foreign commerce, is the 
capital of an ecclesiastical state, and over- 
shadowed by the solemn memories of a great 
past. From these, and other external influ- 
ences, and, perhaps, from some of those pri- 
mitive and inexplicable peculiarities in the 
organisation of the inhabitants themselves, 
there is a general air of gravity and silence 
in the streets, and in the countenances of 
those who frequent them. The light from 
the sky seems absorbed by the gloomy walls 
of the new passages upon which it falls; 
and at night the dim lamps are mere guiding 
points to the eye, with but faint illuminating 
power. The absence of loud noises of any 
kind is remarkable. There are no heavily- 
laden carts or drays thundering over the 
pavements ; no huge omnibuses lumbering 
along. The carts, which come in from the 
country, are either lightly constructed, or 
move at a slow pace. The sound of the 
human voice does not gather and swell in 
streams. Ecclesiastics glide along without 
speaking ; foreigners and artists do their 
talking in the cafes ; the peasants from the 
country do not seem to be a very chatty 
race ; and even the beggars are not clamorous 
in their approaches. 

Naples, on the contrary, situated in a re- 
gion of varied and smiling beauty, is full of 
life, movement, and gaiety. To the swarm of 
unthinking ephemera that hum and dart in 
the sunshine, the present is everything ; and 
the past history of Naples, as compared 
with its present state, throws a shadow on 
the brow of the most sensitive patriot. 
There is no ghost of departed power and 
glory to rise up and frown upon the giddy 
gaiety of a thoughtless race. 

In Naples, the outward aspect of the 
earth, sea, and sky, have passed into the 
spirit of man, and kindled it to a genial 
emulation with nature. The better classes 
are fond of showy colors in their dress. 
Soldiers in gay uniforms take the place of 
ecclesiastics in Rome. That taste for rich 
and gorgeous splendor, which we notice as 
characteristic of the African race, sheds its 
influence over the city upon which the wind 
from Africa so often blows. In Naples, too, 
the silence of Rome is displaced by a roar of 
voices. Everybody talks in a loud tone, and 
enforces his words with the most animated, 
gestures. This universal and fundamental 


sound is varied by the rattling of rapid 
carriages and the shouts of the open-air 
dealers in eatables and other articles, station- 
ary or itinerant, till the whole air overflows 
with the uproar. 

In Rome, the influence of external nature 
being less powerful and attractive, men have 
turned their thoughts inward ; and have 
created or collected forms of beauty in 
architecture, sculpture, and painting. In 
Naples, the world in the open air has taken 
such hold upon the senses, and woven such 
a net of fascination around the facile nature 
of the people, that it has prevented the 
discipline and devotion of mind which make 
the artist. Art is a reproduction, and not 
an imitation of Nature. The forms of the 
world must be turned into shape in the 
artist's mind, before they can appear as 
creations. Naples and its neighborhood are 
so lovely, that there is no room for the ideal. 
There is so much to be enjoyed, that there 
is no time for study. 

It is a curious fact, that Naples has pro- 
duced but one great landscape-painter, Salva- 
tor Rosa ; and that his inspiration was drawn, 
not from the characteristic scenery of Naples, 
but from the wooded mountains of La Cava 
and Nocera. No Neapolitan painter has 
ever warmed his canvass with the pearly 
lights of Cuyp, or spread over it the aerial 
gold of Claude Lorraine. In this, as in so 
many other things, successful work is the 
result of a due proportion between the task 
and the instrument. Southey, whose literary 
industry was so remarkable within the range 
of his own library, said, that he should never 
have accomplished anything, if his energies 
had been buried under the vast stores of the 
British Museum. 

The Dutch painter, who, when he looked 
out of the window, saw a meadow, a wind- 
mill, a willow-tree hanging over a brook, or 
.a rainy sunset behind a row of trees, felt 
himself competent to grapple with such 
themes, and set himself to work accordingly ; 
but what artist would not fold his hands in 
despair before the glories of a sunset in the 
Bay of Naples ? In personal appearance, so 
far as my own observation went, the ad- 
vantage is decidedly with the Romans. 
There are more fine faces in the latter city, 
and generally a higher expression and loftier 
carriage I noticed a great many counte- 
nances in Naples, especially among women, 
which were repulsive from their strong stamp 
of animal coarseness. Sensual mouths, large 
and impudent noses, and rough, vinous com 
plexions were common; and the effect of 
these personal disadvantages was generally 
enhanced by a filthy and slatternly attire. 

In Rome, there is much of quiet dignity 
observable in the manner of the common 
people met with in the streets. In Naples, the 

general characteristic is excessive mobility 
both of body and face. The play of counte- 
nance is rapid and incessant. Two ragged 
idlers talk on the Chiaja with gestures so 
animated and glowing, that an orator might 
study them with profit. We feel, as we walk 
along the streets, that multitudes of first- 
rate comic actors are here running to waste. 
In Rome, in spite of all the changes of time 
and the blows of fate, there is still an 
indefinable something which recalls the old 
Roman aspect and spirit ; but in Naples, 
everything indicates a corrupted Greek mind 
and character : vivacity that has passed into 
buffoonery; a love of beauty that has degene- 
rated into sensuality and voluptuousness ; 
quickness that has become restlessness ; and 
susceptibility that has declined into im- 
patience. Naples is to Greece what the 
farces of the San Carlino are to the comedies 
of Aristophanes. 


Hope,— calm, delusive Hopel Of all de- 
ceivers, thou deceivest most. Strange and 
perverse as it may seem, 'tis better so than 
otherwise ; for man, proud man, with all 
his candid, equitable, just professions, lives 
by deception, — deceiving others, and in turn 
deceived himself ! 

From prince to peasant, from the Minister 
of State to the poor tramping juggler who 
displays his knowledge of " Ye Mysterie " 
to the astonished eyes of gaping multitudes 
of boorish clowns, — all flock to thee. At 
thy standard they crave high-sounding titles, 
power, wealth, and fame. All seek some 
goal, supported and sustained by thee, — and 
thou deceivest them ! 

Weak, struggling mortals, who from day to 
clay toil on with anxious care in search of 
gold, lean heavily on thee ; and when they 
fancy they have gained the point, then comes 
the chilling blast. Hope has deserted them ; 
and in the silent grave they sleep, uncared 
for and unknown ! 

The parted wife lives, once again to clasp 
her husband to her breast. The mother, 
whose whole soul is centred in her absent child, 
trusts that they may meet again. Oh! with 
what fond delight they trust in thee, whilst 
thou dost picture scenes not to be realised ; 
joys brilliant, but joys that ne'er can be ful- 
filled ! Yet are there traits in thee, that will 
redeem the heart's severest censure of thy 
fallacy. Thou art the rock on which the 
Christian builds his faith, by which he is 
sustained in adverse storms ; and by whose 
aid he struggles, with the spirit of a giant, 
against impending evils (through this vale of 
sorrow, misery and tears), to gain a haven of 
joy. This, this is thy redeeming quality ! 

If such be Hope, though Hope be called 


deceitful, well content am T to be deceived 
ill things relating to this mundane sphere ; 
and let my motto be 

" Hope on, Hope ever !" 

H. H. Hetherington, 


We observe in an interesting work, entitled 
Sixteen Months in the Danish Isles, that the 
inhabitants of Scandinavia have much delight 
in practising our game of La Grace. The 
author describes it so pleasantly, that we 
think our readers can hardly fail to be 
gratified with the particulars as he has jotted 
them down. This game used to be very 
popular with us ; and we have often felt de- 
lighted to see our young ladies enter into it 
with spirit. It was conducive to health. 
Alas! it has been put down by " Fashion." 
Young people of the present day are forbidden 
to be "natural." Health is quite a secondary 

I will here (says the author) describe this game, 
called in Scandinavia," the Ring." We formed a 
wide circle of young folks on the lawn, each indi- 
vidual holding in his hand a wand. A few light 
wooden rings, in circumference as large as a soup- 
plate, were produced. These were to he thrown 
from one person to the other by means of the 
wands. If the thrower did his or her business 
awkwardly the receiver might have to run a long 
way to catch the ring, and miss it after all, and 
then have to run back to his former position to 
pitch it in turn to the next. Much agility and 
adroitness were called for, involving a good deal 
of exercise. It was particularly necessary to turn 
about with no loss of time, after flinging one's 
ring to the next in the circle, in order to he ready 
to receive that which might otherwise be whizzing 
through the air from one's opponent on the other 
side. This was the most difficult rule to observe ; 
inasmuch as it was very tempting, on casting the 
ring aloft, to watch how it came down and whether 
it was caught; but if on any occasion you were 
unlucky enough to stand gazing after it, you were 
sure to feel a ring from the opposite quarter come 
dangling about your head or shoulders. People 
are always on the outlook to take their neighbor 
at unawares, just as he is busy^casting to his 

As there are no forfeits or punishments con- 
nected with the game, it is a very agreeable one 
where there is sufficient scope, producing an 
equally powerful but more healthful glow on the 
cheeks of youth and beauty than the exercise of a 
heated ball-room. The accompaniments are also 
more beautiful than the decorations of any dancing, 
saloon, — the grass as a carpet ; the beds of real 
flowers as its pattern ; the blue Heaven as a ceiling, 
or (if it be clouded) with clouds gilded by the 
upward rays of the setting sun ; the atmosphere in 
the purity, and mildness, and balminess of a sum- 
mer evening, instead of the usual heated air ; and 
the heavy foliage of the neighboring forests as 
natural walls, seemingly denser than walls of stone 
and lime. 

Although myself busy with the game, and more 
taken up than the others because I was new to it, 
and had to be taught, 1 still had time enough to 
admire the effect of it upon my fellow-players, par- 
ticularly on the fair ones of the party, who entered 
into the thing with the completest surrender of all 
stiffnesF,. resembling children for the time being ; 
and young ladies are in general fearful of looking 
like children, yet it becomes them well — as what 
doth not become them ? There is beauty even in 
wind-blown locks, and tangled curls, and shoes 
that have gone down in the heel, — when one has 
been witness to the merry process by which these 
disorders have been brought about. 

At the crystal doors of the " garden room " lay 
two dogs, which snapped at the flies; now and 
then they got up and gambolled about the lawn, 
as it were in imitation of their superiors. On a 
seat by the window sat some older ladies working 
and chatting, as grave as if no diversions were 
going on before their eyes. Inside were a few 
more ; the lady of the house taking an occasional 
glance through the window to see how we got on ; 
looking not exactly happy when any of our 
thoughtless troop ran their feet upon one of the 
flower-beds, which happened now and then. 
Flowers were cultivated here to great perfection. 



She spoke not ; but her mournful eye 

Fell sadly on his vacant chair; 
And though she tried to check the sigh, 

Her looks betray'd her wild despair. 
Where could she hope or comfort seek, 
But in his breast ? poor Veronique ! 

She wander'd to a little spot 

Where they had pass'd some happy hours ; 
Paused o'er the sweet " forget me not," 

And sought with tears his favorite flowers. 
Bright gems ! but now, alas, too weak 
To cheer her heart, — poor Veronique ! 

She heeded not the twice-told tale 
That men are faithless, insincere. 

She thought his promise could not fail, 
His parting words she seemed to hear, 

When tears stood trembling on her cheek, — 

" I'll ne'er forget thee, Veronique ! " 

Their fav'rite walks again she traced ; 

But when the songs he loved were sung, 
O'er her pale cheek the warm tears chased, 

And bitter sighs her bosom wrung. 
That plaintive look, too, seemed to speak 
Of blighted hope, — poor Veronique ! 

Weep on ; for thou canst ne'er forget 

The agony those tears express ; 
A canker in the bud has set, 

And fills thy heart with bitterness. 
That gentle heart, so calm, so meek, 
Is almost broken, — Veronique ! 

Weep on, poor girl ; thy tears percbance 
May yield thy bosom some relief. 

Before thee lies a wide expanse 
Of sorrow, bitterness, and grief. 

The world is desolate and bleak, — 

But Heaven is kind ! poor Veronique ! 





Midway between the towns of Tor- 
quay and Plymouth is situated the large 
and beautiful Estuary of Salcombe. At the 
entrance on the east, is the almost perpen- 
dicular promontory, called the Prawle Head; 
and on the west, rising to a height of nearly 
six hundred feet, is the Bolt Head. These 
two projections form the most southern 
extremity of the county of Devon. 

At the mouth of the harbour, which is 
about half a mile in width, is a bar of sand, 
on which, at low ebb of spring tides, there is 
never less than six feet of water. About a 
furlong inside the entrance, and rather on 
the east side, is a large knot of rocks, called 
the Blackstone, barely covered at high water 
spring tide. These, with a small rock, called 
the Wolf, only uncovered at the lowest tides, 
and situated a little farther seaward, form a 
natural breakwater, and protect the harbour 
(which is very commodious and safe) from 
the tremendous seas that, during a south- 
west gale, are hurled with overwhelming 
force on this part of the coast. 

Upon the two rocks above-mentioned, the 
bar — and also on some other rocks nearer the 
Moult, beacons and buoys have been placed. 
These make the harbour easily accessible to 
strangers. On a small promontory to the 
left of the entrance of the harbour, and 
about half a mile within it, is situated 
the Moult, the beautiful residence of Lord 
Courtenay. This is a neat, commodious 
edifice, in a style partaking mainly of the 
Gothic. The grounds are beautifully wooded ; 
and the gardens, which are tastefully laid out, 
contain many thriving plants of the Agave 
Americana, two of which have flowered in 
the grounds. (See Kidd's Journal for Jan.) 
The walls are covered with fine orange, citron, 
and lemon trees, and many other exotic 
plants, too numerous to mention ; all of which 
are perfectly acclimated. 

A short distance above the Moult, on a 
rock nearly level with the water at high tide, 
stand the ruins of an ancient castle, which 
defended the entrance of the port, and was 
dismantled by the Parliamentary troops 
during the civil war in the reign of Charles 
the First. This castle was garrisoned for 
the King, by Sir Edmund Fortescue, Knt., of 
Fallapit, in this county. It was of an irre- 
gular form ; circular on the south-west, and 
partly so towards the north-west; but the 
end to the north-east, nearest Salcombe, is 
narrowed almost to a point. Here the circu- 
lar form terminates ; while a straight wall, 
extending half the length of the fort, faces 
the high land behind it. The north-west 
section, which is principally in the direction 

of the land, is now standing, nearly entire 
It is built of hewn stone, about forty feet in 
height, and seven feet in thickness. On the 
inside are to be seen the holes in which the 
beams of the upper floor were placed. In 
the walls of this chamber are two port-holes, 
and seven loop-holes for musketry ; which, 
as the land in the rear has an abrupt ele- 
vation, seem to be all that could be of any 
service in that quarter. 

From original papers in the possession of 
the Fortescue family, it appears that it was 
thought necessary to repair this castle during 
the civil wars, and Sir Edmund Fortescue, of 
Fallapit, Knt., received an order for that 
purpose from Prince Maurice, the King's 
nephew, by whom he was also appointed 
governor. Sir Edmund immediately set 
about repairing this fortress, which by the 
15th January, 1645-6, he had completely 
provisioned and fortified with great guns and 
muskets ; the expense of which, as appears 
by the Knight's daily account, amounted to 
the sum of £3,196 14s. 6d. On the said 
15th of January, this castle (then called Fort 
Charles) was besieged by the Parliamentary 
forces under Sir Thomas Fairfax. In what 
manner the siege was carried on does not 
appear. Tradition says, the Parliamentary 
forces attacked it from Rickham Common, 
in the parish of Portlemouth, on the opposite 
side of the harbour ; and a half-moon trench, 
with a mound and three places for three guns, 
may be seen on the south-east shore, exactly 
facing the castle, where they erected their 

On the 7th of May, 1646, a little less than 
four months after the commencement of the 
siege, the garrison was obliged to capitulate. 
From some observations made by Sir Edmund 
Fortescue, in his book of accounts, it seems 
that this castle sustained two investments, 
before the one last mentioned ; but no par- 
ticulars are given, further than what may be 
gathered from these words — " Item, for great 
shot and musket shot, when Fort Charles 
was formerly twice besieged, £15 17s." Sir 
Edmund Fortescue afterwards sought safety 
in Holland, and in his exile compounded for 
his estate at upwards of £600. He lies buried 
at Delft, where a monument is erected to his 
memory. His portrait is still to be seen at 
Fallapit ; where a large key, said to belong 
to the above-mentioned fort, is preserved. 
It is 1 foot 4 inches long, and 2 inches wide 
at the part that enters the lock. In the small 
bay between the old castle and the Moult, 
which is about a furlong in depth, and con- 
tains a beautiful beach of the same length, 
called North Sands, may be seen at low 
water spring tides, an immense quantity of 
trunks of trees, imbedded in the sand. These 
are supposed to be the remains of a wood, 
overwhelmed in former times by the sea; 


but there are no records or traditions in the 
neighborhood which can throw any light on 
the subject. 

On digging about a couple of feet below 
the surface, the ground appears to be a mass 
of decomposed vegetable matter ; amongst 
which are found the small sprays of trees, nuts, 
acorns, and leaves — sufficiently solid to be 
preserved, if moderate care be used in taking 
them up. Some years since, I saw several 
persons engaged in taking out the trunk of 
a large oak which they had found about four 
feet below the surface. It was three feet in 
diameter and six in length ; and when taken 
up — a task which it required several men 
and horses to perform — the heart was found 
to be as black as ebony, and intensely hard, 
also capable of taking a fine polish. The 
outer part was in a soft pulpy state, to a 
depth of about six inches. I had some of 
the heart sawn into thin slices, out of which 
I made several trifles as presents for some of 
my friends. There is still a large piece of 
this wood in the grounds of the Moult (to 
which property the sands belong), the ex- 
terior of which has become moderately solid 
by exposure to the air. 

Other parts of this wood, nearer low- water- 
mark, are perforated by innumerable quan- 
tities of the Pholas Dactylus, or Prickly 
Piercer; which are frequently used by the 
fishermen as bait, under the local name of 
" sculpins." I have taken them from the 
wood, considerably exceeding four inches in 
length, and in a very perfect condition ; 
which, as the wood near the surface is about 
the consistence of soft clay, may be easily 
done. I have no doubt, however, that at a 
depth of several feet, the wood will be found 
in good preservation ; and, when dry, 
capable of being used in cabinet work. From 
this beach, and from the shores generally, 
the various species of the marine plants 
Fucus, Salsola, and Salicornia (commonly 
called ore weed), of which every tide casts 
up great quantities,— are taken at will by 
the occupiers of the different farms in the 
neighborhood, who use it as a manure. The 
right is founded upon an unvarying custom, 
from time immemorial, — undenied, uninter- 
rupted, so that it cannot now be shaken. 

The Critlimum Maritimum, the true sea or 
rock samphire, which is used for pickling, 
grows abundantly in the crevices of the 
cliffs around this part of the coast. On the 
sands eastward and westward of the entrance 
of Salcombe Harbour, is found the Crambe 
Maritirna, or sea kale, which is indigenous 
to these sands. As a delicious vegetable, 
it has been long known in this part of 
Devonshire, and transplanted into the 
gardens, where it was usual to blanch it with 
s ea sand. It was first introduced to the 

London markets in 1795, by the celebrated 
botanist Curtis, the author of n Flora Lon- 
dinensis^" 1 and the Botanical Magazine, and 
who published a separate treatise upon the 
culture of it. About a quarter of a mile 
above the old castle just spoken of, stands 
Woodville, formerly the seat of James Yates, 
Esq., but now used as a lodging-house. It 
is a neat house, encompassed with a colon- 
nade ; and in the gardens may be seen 
quantities of lemon, citron, and orange trees, 
an olive tree (entirely unprotected), and some 
splendid masses of the Phormium Tenax, 
or New Zealand Flax, which grows most 
luxuriantly, and flourishes as vigorously as 
in its native country. 

Three fine aloes have flowered here ; and 
there are still some fine plants in the grounds. 
It commands a splendid view of the British 
Channel and the harbour ; and as the Start 
Point, a few miles to the eastward, is gene- 
rally the first land made by homeward-bound 
ships, there is scarcely any want of interest 
in the view from the Moult, Woodville, Ring- 
rone, or Cliff House ; while the spectacle 
presented by the sea-view during a strong 
south-west gale is majestic in the highest 
degree. A few hundred yards nearer Sal- 
combe, and a short distance above the water's 
edge, stands Ringrone, the seat of Lord 
Kingsale. This is a handsome edifice, 
erected a few years since by the late Lord, 
in place of a rather incommodious building 
that occupied the same position. His Lord- 
ship also constructed a large esplanade, 
several hundred feet in length, which is taste- 
fully laid out. 

Adjoining Ringrone, but farther up the 
hill, stands Cliff House, the residence of Mrs. 
Walter Prideaux. This is a large and com- 
fortable mansion, surrounded by productive 
gardens and ornamental grounds, and fur- 
nishing all in the way of comfort that one 
could desire. Below the house, and in a line 
with the esplanade of Lord Kingsale, Mrs. 
Prideaux has constructed one of about the 
same length, which, with that of Lord Kingsale 
(closely adjoining), forms a great ornament 
to the harbour. At the end of the esplanade 
nearest Salcombe, is the Preventive Station, 
and a ferry to the opposite parish of Ports- 
mouth ; the harbour, from its entrance to 
this place, preserves a nearly uniform width 
of half a mile. 

At the back of this esplanade is a splendid 
stone wall, about thirty feet in height, and 
extending nearly the whole of its length, 
which is to be planted with orange, citron, 
lemon, and lime trees; and in the course of 
a few years, this wall will present a remark- 
able object among the curiosities of the neigh- 
borhood. In the garden, in front of the 
drawing-room windows, is the spot where the 



first Agave Americana that flowered in Great 
Britain stood ; it blossomed in the year 1774. 

C. F. T. Y. 

JStocJcleigh Pomeroy, 
Crediton, Devon. 

(To be concluded in our next.) 

I tell the trxtth, but without bitterness. 
Deem not my zeal factious, nor mistimed ; 
For never can true courage dwell with them, 
Who, playing tricks with conscience, dare not look 
At their own failings. We have been too long 
Dupes of a deep delusion. 


Make Temperance thy companion ; so shall Health 
s't on thy brow, and Happiness reign in thy heart. — 


We are making strenuous exertions 
to obtain entrance for Our Journal into 
Mechanics' Institutions and Public Reading 
Rooms in all parts of the country. There 
is something about our Periodical, we are 
told, that is likely to excite more than 
common attention among a class of men 
whose interests we have much at heart. 
Any aid in this matter will be as thankfully 
acknowledged as it is earnestly asked for. 

Mechanics, like many others, must have 
their hearts touched, and their better feelings 
worked upon, ere they can make any 
progress in mental pursuits. The grand 
point is, hoio to reach the heart. 

Knowledge that does not lead to some 
excitement, observes a contemporary, or 
point to some struggle between weakness 
and power, is so very unpopular, that 
Mechanics 1 Institutions are evidently not 
keeping pace with the growing prosperity 
of the country ; nor are they regarded by 
the people at large as profitable schools for 
mental cultivation. The Mayor of Chester, 
at the late meeting at the Lord Mayor of 
London's conversazione, complained of the 
general decline of mechanics' institutions 
throughout the country ; and the Rev. F. 
0. Morris, Vicar of Nafferton, Yorkshire, 
expresses himself to the following effect, in 
a pamphlet just published on National Adult 
Education ; — 

For many years I have been a warm supporter 
of these institutions. At Doncaster, in the years 
1836-37, a lyceum was projected and established. 
I gave it my hearty support, as the curate of one 
of the churches in the town, and its records will 
abundantly show how largely I contributed to its 
museum ; but its friends— and it had many 
sincere ones— had, ere long, the mortification of 
perceiving it degraded into a mere news-room, 
and made a baneful vehicle for the dissemination 
of common party opinions. This ended, as might 
be foreseen in a clashing of parties, and all was 
confusion and discord. To throw oil on the 
troubled waters, and as a means of resuscitation, I 
was strongly urged and invited to give a lecture, 

with a view to a reconciliation between the op- 
posing factions. This I did to one of the most 
crowded audiences that ever filled the large room 
at the Mansion House. The good effect, how- 
ever, was but very brief and temporary. Soon the 
evil spirit again showed itself, party feeling 
became rife, things went on worse than before ; 
and the end was that the whole museum, and all 
the other furniture of the place, were sold, and all 
was for the time brought to an end. 

Too soon, however, these (lectures) also 
ceased to be frequented, the library of the Drif- 
field Institution, to which our union gave us 
access, was almost, if not altogether, neglected to 
be made use of; and lectures duly advertised 
have been obliged to be postponed or given up. 
The too numerous public-houses — the bane of 
the country — presented a greater attraction than 
the charms of learning or science ; and the 
" thievish corners of the streets " a more agree- 
able recreation than mental culture, even when con- 
veyed in the easiest and most winning way. 

This is a true and a faithful picture of 
what is taking place all over the country, 
and ever will take place with all such insti- 
tutions ; for science is rather a trade, or pro- 
fession, than a subject of popular interest 
adapted for public education. Scientific 
lectures and scientific books are, therefore, 
suitable only for the select few, who are 
either professional interested in them, or 
so superior to the average mass of the people 
as not only to feel the desire, but the power 
also to master the difficulties of a high edu- 
cation. The bulk of mankind, even the rich 
and respectable included, can do little more 
with the art of reading than peruse news- 
paper paragraphs, police reports, novels, 
romances, and other story-books. Compa- 
ratively few have either desire or capacity 
to read and understand the leading articles of 
a newspaper ; and amongst all the schoolbred 
ladies and gentlemen (not to speak of men 
and women, whom the country contains), 
how lew have even mental activity or edu- 
cation sufficient to take an interest in the 
history of their own country, or of any other 
country in the world ! There are numbers 
of both sexes who have been reading almost 
daily— for ten, twenty, or fifty years, and yet 
are as ignorant of all that is usually denomi- 
nated knowledge, as if they had never been 
at school at all ! 

With the schoolbred ladies and gentlemen 
we have nothing to do. The atmosphere 
they move in is antagonistic to anything we 
could say for their benefit ; but we really do 
feel interested for the class known as 4 ' Me- 
chanics." Not radically bad, yet are many 
of them ruined by coming into contact with 
evil companions ; and their minds not being 
well cultivated, they are led away, — easy 
victims to intemperance, partisanship, ex- 
treme opinions, and licentiousness. Hence 
is the public-house preferred to the Insti- 


Another great cause of disaffection to the 
pursuits of knowledge, and a love for the 
social arts, is traceable to the combination of 
workmen against their employers. This 
combination is a serious offence both against 
God and man ; and as it is spreading widely 
throughout the land, and the men must " hold 
together," we feel justified in hinting at it. 
The aiders and abettors of this movement 
are, of course, men utterly destitute of prin- 
ciple. All they can do is — to talk, and by 
means of sophistry to poison the minds of 
their weak dupes, — thus holding them cap- 
tive at will, and destroying in them all that 
sense of moral propriety, and proper self- 
esteem, which alone could make them feel 
independent, upright, and worthy members 
of the community. Fiends are the leaders ; 
and the "consequences " are daily visible. 

There may be yet another reason for the 
decline of Mechanics' Institutions. We 
strongly suspect that many of the individuals 
of whom we are speaking know little about 
a comfortable "home." Now, if a man be 
ill at ease among his " household gods," his 
mind necessarily becomes cankered ; and he 
seeks abroad that refuge from trouble which 
should be afforded him in the bosom of his 
own family. All these evils it will be our 
pleasing duty to try and ameliorate. We 
have already accomplished so much, that now 
nothing appears to be impossible. Nous 

All our weapons of warfare against 
offenders will be, — gentle reasoning and quiet 
argument. We will show that men may be 
merry and wise, cheerful and good, com- 
panionable and happy. These recognised 
principles of Our Journal are not for the 
few, — but for the many. 

D E E A M S. 

Dreams are the poet's birthright, 

Dreams are the poet's hope ; 
Dreams are the poet's spirit-light, 

By which he steers Life's boat. 

Dreams are his fount of knowledge, 
Dreams are his guide to truth ; 

Dreams are the learned college, 
In which he passed his youth. 

Dreams were his childhood's dwelling, 
Dream-land his dearest home ; 

In dreams his heart is swelling, 
With joys that never come. 

All dreamy is his spirit-bride, 
Bright dreams his children are ; 

Entranc'd he's wafted o'er life's tide 
To rise in worlds more fair, — 

And find the glory of his dreams 
Surpass'd on those blest shores, 

Where radiance from the Godhead streams, 
And, waking, he adores. 



True dignity is hers, whose tranquil mind 
Virtue has raised above the things below ; 
Who, every hope and fear to Heaven resigned, 
Shrinks not though Fortune aim her deadliest blow. 


There can be no Paper so well adapted 
for the discussion of the position held by 
Dignity and Duty, as Our Journal. I there- 
fore ask a small corner for expressing my 
thoughts thereupon. 

Few will deny the fact, — that where dignity 
and duty are in question, the latter almost 
invariably goes to the wall. This perverseness 
and short-sightedness, so inherent in human 
nature, is perfectly unaccountable as well as 
indefensible. Nor can we be blind to the 
consequences of people's folly, in so leaning 
towards the wrong side. 

Let us imagine a delicate female entering, 
a. la chrysalis, into a matrimonial " engage- 
ment." It is at this period that every friend 
and every acquaintance feels herself licensed 
to tender " advice," as to the future bearing 
of the affiancee towards the object of her 
choice. Now the greatest misfortune, if she 
permit herself to listen to her advisers, is — 
that, in the present artificial state of society, 
mere acquaintances will most probably pre- 
ponderate, both in numbers and volubility of 
language. A true friend, possessing a warm 
and unselfish regard for the object of her soli- 
citude, would rest satisfied in knowing that a 
sincere reciprocity of affection existed between 
the " contracting parties ;" and would simply 
endeavor to cultivate that perfect confidence 
between them that is so essential to the real 
happiness of the married life. This effected, 
the parties may be well left to the exercise of 
their own good feelings as well as good 

But alas ! how different is the result attend- 
ing the great majority of brides in futuro, 
who listen to the evil counsels so elaborately 
poured into their ears by their silly female 
acquaintance ! 

That sweet sympathy of the affections, — 
that entire reliance upon each other, — the 
delights of an unrestrained community of 
sentiment and thought which exist between 
parties who really love — are entirely unknown 
to those who tender the pernicious advice 
peculiar to such a season. " Do not give 
way too much," says one. u Do not give 
way at all," says another. " Oh, insist upon 
this thing," or " insist upon having or doing 
another," says a third. Just as if men were 
a set of tyrants ; devoid of all consideration, 
or of confiding or affectionate sympathy for 
a woman ! That there are some such I will 
not deny; but they are, let us hope, the 
" exceptions " to manhood ; for no man could 
be induced to take advantage of the sincere 
confidence of an affectionate wife, whilst it is 



but too certain that the carrying out of such 
lessons as those we have condemned, too fre- 
quently produce the results they are osten- 
sibly intended to avoid. 

Instances best illustrate this miserable 
error; and two that have occurred within 
my own experience may be fairly taken as 
samples of hundreds of others. 


On a fine evening in the month of June, 
a gentleman of rather prepossessing appear- 
ance (accompanied by a lady aged twenty- 
five, and of elegant though rather stately 
manners), sauntered up and down the well- 
rolled gravel walk of one of the numerous 
suburban villas in the environs of London. 
There were, however, an uneasiness and 
anxiety discernible in the features of Charles 
Morrison (for that was our hero's name), 
which contrasted rather painfully with the 
easy, self-satisfied deportment of his com- 
panion. His manners were gentlemanly and 
natural; his language mild and respectful, 
without being servile or cringing. She, how- 
ever, evinced an irritability when opposed, 
and a restlessness of disposition when any 
matter that required thought or consideration 
crossed her path. This proved her to have 
been educated in a school where caprice and 
self-will were uppermost. At times, however, 
the better part of her nature would (like a 
bright gleam of sunshine) penetrate the cloud 
of ills that enveloped it, and induce to the 
belief that her style was an assumed one, 
although habit had almost made it a part of 

The couple presently stopped at the garden 
gate ; and their looks and words at parting 
left no doubt upon an observer's mind of their 
relative position towards each other. 

" What can I think? " mused Morrison, 
as he bent his steps homewards ; "can it really 
be her natural disposition to indulge in the 
pomp and extravagance she expects me to 
provide for her in our future home ? Or is 
it only that she has been listening to the 
erroneous notions of some silly adviser ? I 
could not dare to encounter the first ; and 
the other is little less dangerous to our future 
happiness. Could I but be sure that she 
would rest content with my lot, until my 
practice enabled me to indulge her expec- 
tations, I should then marry without having 
any cloud to damp my hopes of happiness ; 
but if — pshaw ! I am only traducing her love 
to doubt it ; so I will try to think no more 
about it." 

This train of thought had been forced 
upon Morrison more than once, by requests 
made by Ellen Mantle for some household 
arrangement or another, connected with 
their intended marriage, which he felt his 
means did not warrant. He had often told 
her so ; but failed to convince her of the 

goodness of his reasoning. Morrison had 
not been called to the bar many years ; and 
as something more than an amiable disposi- 
tion was necessary to qualify him for follow- 
ing his profession with success, he had not 
made that progress which his friends had 
expected.^ Still, as his talents became better 
known, his practice increased; and his indus- 
try being untiring, he not unwisely turned his 
thoughts to matrimony as the one tiling 
needful to his future happiness. His affec- 
tion for Ellen Mantle was sincere and honor- 
able ; and in spite of the drawbacks to which 
I have alluded, the day for their marriage was 

The arrangement for the grand event was 
quite in accordance with the character of the 
lady's mother, who too frequently lost sight 
of every other considei ation save "effect." 
But as Morrison felt that this part of the 
affair was beyond his control, although he 
disliked the questionable taste that could 
make such an event an excuse for idle dis- 
play, instead of rendering it a serious and 
sacred ceremony; — yet as any interference 
of his would unquestionably be offensive, 
he bore the infliction as best he could ; being 
unwilling to disturb the kindly feeling which 
lie thought it wise to cultivate on that par- 
ticular occasion. Everthing was said to have 
"passed off delightfully;" although there 
was more than one present who smiled with 
a slight tinge of contempt at the overstrained 
attempt at ostentation and display. 

And now the time for u going off" ap- 
proached. Ellen had retired to change her 
dress ; and after the usual " fashionable'' 
accompaniment of tears, mamma bade her 
child adieu, — not without sundry injunctions 
as to a married woman's " rights," and con- 
juring her " never to forget her dignity. '' This 
lesson Ellen had before got by heart ; and 
in promising her mother to observe it 
strictly, she sacrificed the happiness of her 
future life. 

Neither the reasonings prompted by a 
husband's love, nor the regard and advice 
of those who were really her friends, availed 
aught. Her " dignity " must be kept up ; 
and thus was she of course led deeper and 
deeper into a gulf of misery. Her husband, 
after repeated attempts, gave up in despair 
all hope of opening her eyes to her folly. 
Dinner and evening parties, dress, visiting, 
balls, concerts, and routs, (from many 
of which Morrison purposely absented 
himself,) followed each other in rapid suc- 
cession, — all being needful for the support of 
my lady's " dignity." She was now about 
to become a mother; her husband fondly 
hoped that the coming stranger would effect 
a change in her pursuits. But, alas ! she 
found a mother's, care for her offspring to be 
incompatible with habits essential to the 



support of her position in society. This 
led to the ever-fashionable but unnatural and 
cruel resort to nurses and other expedients. 
Debts soon became contracted which it was 
impossible to pay. This taught deception 
first, and then falsehood. In order to blind 
Morrison to the expedients adopted to supply 
her wants, she had recourse to the most 
wicked artifice. His absence from home 
enabled her for some time to practise with 
success; but eventually* she was discovered, 
and lost the last prop which might otherwise 
have saved her "a husband's confidence." 
Poor fellow ! all now was a blank ; and being 
very sensitive on points of truth and honor, 
and finding himself deeply involved, his 
mind tottered. Of course, too, his professional 
pursuits were interrupted; and thus his 
spirits, after many vain struggles, gradually 
sank — until, no longer able to sustain his 
declining credit, a prison became his tem- 
porary home. From thence he passed into 
a madhouse. What became of the wretched 
object who was the immediate cause of this, 
it is unnecessary to relate. Yet is it most 
true, that those who instilled the poison 
which led to her destruction were by far the 
loudest in her condemnation. 

Now for a few words upon the more whole- 
some subject of 


Ralph |Barnett was the owner of a' small 
estate (Briar Hall), that had come into his 
possession on the death of his wife's brother. 
He resided upon it ; adding to it the manage- 
ment of a small farm adjoining ; and the 
profits of both enabled him to enjoy many 
of the luxuries of life. He was considered 
(indeed he was in heart and mind) a gentle- 
man of the t true " Talfordian type." His 
wife was in every way most deserving of the 
warm affection he entertained for her. Kind, 
hospitable, generous, and "natural," she 
made their home a perfect Paradise of de- 
lights. Nor were there any earthly sorrows 
to cloud their happiness, beyond those which 
He, to whom their daily thanks were offered, 
sent to them as lessons or warnings. Both 
are now gone to that "last bourne from 
whence no traveller returns ;" but the tribute 
which Barnett was permitted to pay to his 
wife's memory still exists in the churchyard 
of a beautiful village in Surrey. It runs 
thus : — 

"She was 

But words are wanting to express what ! 
Think, what a wife and mother should be. 
And she was that ! " 

Towards those who shared their hospitality, 
which was ever proffered by true "friend- 
ship," there was always the same frankness 
and generous warmth shown. They did not 
allow the falsehood of "not at home," to be 

uttered at their door ; nor was there any 
mystery in the countenance of either host or 
hostess, to induce a moment's doubt as 
to your hearty welcome. How closely 
soever the mind of either might be studied, 
no trace would there be of any difference of 
wish, or feeling, existing between them. Each 
gave way to the other, without knowing it ; 
for, loving each other sincerely, they had 
learnt to anticipate the wishes and tastes of 
each other. This so perfectly, that neither 
of the twain could be reconciled to any act 
which might by possibility be unpleasant to 
the other. 

There was a secret spring from whence all 
this happiness originated, which this happy 
couple cared not to inquire into. Still, it 
did exist ; and bore its precious fruit with 
ever-renewing vigor. Can I be blamed for 
entertaining a wish to trace its origin, 
whilst admiring the firmness of mind and 
honesty of purpose with which they perse- 
vered in its practice until it had become an 
inseparable part of themselves ? I confess 
to having studied the human heart somewhat 
deeply in my time ; but I was most agreeably 
surprised to find my studies in this case 
almost unnecessary, for the simplicity of 
truth speaks for itself. This spring and its 
origin were revealed to me upon the occasion 
of one of many happy visits paid to Briar 
Hall, when the subject under consideration 
was the topic. The mother (as may be 
surmised) warmly condemned the officious- 
ness of miscalled friends upon such occa- 
sions ; and with some self-pride added, — 
" When / married, I never would listen to 
one word of ' advice,' save from my own 
dear mother ; and she gave me none until T 
was on the very point of leaving home on 
the day of our marriage, — when, just as I 
parted from her at our dear old cottage door, 
she summed up all she ever gave me in so 
short a sentence that I never could forget 

" What was it ? " we all anxiously ex- 
claimed — feeling convinced it had operated 
most powerfully in forming her character. 
Nor were we disappointed with her conclu- 
sion. " It was, Remember, dear, never to 
neglect your duty ! " 

And who will say, my dear sir, that in 
this pithy sentence is not condensed the 
spring of our happiness here and hereafter? 


[The real fact is, we moderns want a new 
dictionary. Dignity, as recognised by the 
old poets, was a virtue ; not a vice. It 
rendered its possessor amiable : — 

Grace was in all her steps, Heaven in her eye ; 
In every gesture, dignity and love. 

Now, Modern Dignity — the world's idol 
is an imaginary good. It is a mere phantom, 



which never fails to haunt its victims until 
it has finally destroyed them. Duty is a 
word involving a world of meaning ; and 
we quite agree with our correspondent, that 
it stands high among the Virtues. When 
allied to Affection, and the pair " travel in 
sweet company together," then is Duty still 
more amiable. Affection is the ocean; Duty 
a river.] 



Who that has loved knows not the tender tale 

Which flowers reveal when lips are coy to tell ? 
Whose youth has passed not. dreaming in the vale, 
Where the rath violets dwell ? 

Lo, when they shrink along the lonely brake, 

Under the leafless, melancholy tree ; 
Not yet the cnckoo sings, nor glides the snake, 
Nor wild thyme lures the bee ! 

Yet, at their sight and scent entranced and thrill'd, 

All June seems golden in the April skies ; 
How sweet the days we yearn for, till fulfiU'd ! 
distant Paradise, — 

Dear land, to which desire for ever flees, 

Time doth no present to the grasp allow ; 
Say, in the fix'd eternal shall we seize 
At last the fleeting now ? 

Dream not of days to come, of that unknown 

Whither hope wanders (maze without a clue) : 
Give their true witchery to the flowers — their own 
Youth in their youth renew. 

Avarice ! remember when the cowslip's gold 
Lured and yet lost its glitter in thy grasp ; 
Do thy hoards glad thee more than those of old ? — 
Those wither'd in thy clasp. 

From these thy clasp falls palsied ! — It was then 

That thou wert rich ; — thy coffers are a lie ! 
Alas, poor fool ! joy is the wealth of men, 
And care their poverty ! 

Come, foil'd ambition ! what hast thou desired ? 

Empire and power? — wanderer, tempest-tost : 
These once ivere thine, when life's gay spring in- 
Thy soul with glories lost ! 

Let the flowers charm thee to the jocund prime, 

When o'er the stars rapt fancy traced the chart; 
Thou hadst an angel's power in that blest time, 
Thy realm a human heart ! 

Hark ! hark ! again the tread of bashful feet ! 
Hark! the boughs rustling round the trysting 

place ! 
Let air again with one dear breath be sweet, 

Each fair with one dear face ! 

Brief-lived first flowers, first love ! the hours steal 

To prank the world in summer's pomp of hue ; 
But what shall flaunt beneath a fiercer sun 

Worth what we lose in you ? 

Oft, by a flower, a leaf, in some loved book 

We mark the lines that charm us most. .Retrace 
Thy life, recall its loveliest passage ; — look, 
Dead violets keep the place ! 



The evening was drawing near. We 
stopped for the night at a bungalow, half- 
way between Colombo and Kandy, beauti- 
fully situated in a valley, formed by a semi- 
circular group of hills, amongst which the 
road wound on to the east in its uninterrupted 
course. As the sun sank, large, clear, and 
unclouded in the west, the full moon rose 
with a splendor peculiarly her own in the 
clear air of the Tropics, upon the east. I 
know not how to give an idea of the loveli- 
ness of that night, as we enjoyed it ; walking 
in the verandah of the bungalow, and bathing 
as it were in the flood of silver glory poured 
down so profusely by the pale queen of 
night upon the earth ! Not even upon the 
ocean have I witnessed a splendor equal to 
that ! The stars twinkled dimly here and 
there, obscured by the more powerful beams 
of the moon ; whilst the whole earth seemed 
lighted up with intensely burnished silver 
mirrors, reflecting floods of light in every 
direction. The dark shadows on the hill 
sides were rendered still darker by the soft 
glow which diffused itself upon all the salient 
points of the landscape. 

If one could choose, where all was loveli- 
ness, perhaps the palm trees presented the 
most strikingly new and bewitching aspect. 
Their long graceful leaves, wet with dew, 
shone with a mild radiance as the flood of 
light was poured down upon them ; whilst 
between their ever moving branches, the 
rays of the moon made their way timidly 
as it were to the earth, where an exact 
impression of the graceful tracery above was 
pictured out upon the grass in black and 
silver, never at rest, but always lovely. 

All nature seemed to enjoy the glorious 
spectacle. " Most glorious night," I involun- 
tarily exclaimed, with the poet, " thou wert 
not sent for slumber." From the minutest 
insects in the air to the hugest denizens of 
the forest, all seemed equally impressed 
with the same idea, that it were treason to 
the majesty of nature not to enjoy such a 
scene. The air was rilled at intervals with the 
various noises that a luxuriant Tropical fauna 
alone can produce. There was bellowing 
from the woods, the wild shriek or shrill cry 
of the monkeys mingling there with the 
trumpeting of the elephant ; croakings from 
the river and marshes ; loud buzzings from 
the trees and air ; whilst birds called to and 
answered each other with incessant rapidity, 
all intermingled and alternated with each 
other at intervals ; between which a silence 
as of universal awe or death, crept over the 
landscape. The nearer and sharper sounds 
ceased, the silent circle widened, and gradu- 
ally the more distant reverberations ended ; 



then there was a perfect calm for a time, 
holy, pure, and exciting in its peacefulness, 
so different from the tumult which preceded 
and succeeded it. The scene is stamped 
upon my mind still, and will probably never 
be effaced. 

But I have not yet mentioned the most 
exquisite of all the scenes of that bright 
evening. It was love that lent its charm to 
the whole! I was the witness of the happi- 
ness of two noble specimens of our race. I 
had never seen the lady otherwise than with 
her husband ; and therefore I looked upon 
their love and relationship as a natural thing, 
which did not interfere with me; and which, 
if wise, I too could (afar off) participate in, 
or at all events sympathise with. When I 
saw her face shining in the pale moonbeams, 
her sparkling eyes and black hair (contrast- 
ing vividly with the pure whiteness of her 
brow, and of her neck), and whilst 1 felt her 
warm hand resting on my thinly covered 
arm, I looked upon her as I looked upon 
the landscape. She was an object of loveli- 
ness, on which my eyes might feast, and 
which memory might treasure in my heart, 
but which nearer approach would probably 
only sully or disturb. As I saw her gaze 
directed towards the stars, and heard her 
sigh, saying that she was sorry she had not 
studied astrology (yes, sigh in the very 
wantonness of happiness) ; and as I saw the 
clear intelligent eye and brow of her husband 
turned towards her, whilst a good-humored 
smile played around his lips, I felt that we 
require but a sensitive heart to enjoy the 
happiness of others ; and he must have a 
bad one who cannot see that happiness with- 
out envy. 

T will now record the death of a wild 
elephant. A more formidable thing than a 
charge from one of these enraged animals 
can scarcely be imagined. His trunk elevated 
in the air, whilst he trumpets forth loudly 
his rage or hatred, he shuffles his huge carcase 
along at a pace more rapid than any one 
would conceive possible when regarding the 
unwieldy bulk of the animal alone. The 
bushes bend before him as he advances — the 
branches of the trees snap off with sharp, 
rapid reports — the animals in the neighbor- 
ing jungle, alarmed at the danger, hoot, 
whoop, scream, cry, bellow, and roar to the 
utmost, in alarm or in anger ; and the whole 
welkin rings with the commotion. Our bag- 
gage was of course flung down in all direc- 
tions by the coolies, as they made for the 
nearest trees. The elephant paused for a 
moment over the articles strewed in his way, 
but only for a moment ; and hurling a port- 
manteau high in the air, advanced as before, 
bellowing madly. The natives are of course 
expert climbers, so that when he approached 
all the coolies had made their way into the 

trees, and appeared to be perfectly safe — all 
but one, who had still a leg within reach of 
the monster's trunk when he reached the 
tree in which the unfortunate man, paralysed 
by fear, no doubt, was climbing. To the 
others who surrounded him, and to us from 
the brow of the neighboring hill, it appeared 
that the man was sufficiently high in the tree 
to prevent his being caught and dragged 
down by the infuriated animal. Whether he 
was so caught, however, or was only struck 
and fell through excessive fear, certain it is 
we saw him fall backwards on the uplifted 
head of the elephant ! In a moment the 
body of the unfortunate man was whirling 
high in the air, and at length descended with 
a frightful thump upon the ground, only to 
be trampled immediately afterwards into a 
shapeless mass ! His success in this instance, 
whicli was all the work of a moment or two, 
appeared but to increase the savage fury of 
the monster. He rushed at the tree nearest 
to him, into which two of the little band had 
climbed, his broad forehead coming with 
thundering force upon the trunk, and shaking 
it in every twig, — he struck and dug at it 
with his tusks — he grasped it with his trunk 
— retreated to a little distance, and made 
another assault with his broad, heavy fore- 
head, butting as a ram would do against an 

Again was the tree shaken, every leaf 
quivering violently ; but no sign of tumbling 
about it. A slight list to one side was the 
only perceptible result, — its occupants hold- 
ing on for life all the time, and shouting 
violently in the extremity of their fear, or in 
the vain hope of frightening the animal away. 
Whilst all this was proceeding, we were re- 
loading the discharged barrels of our rifles ; 
and, having mounted, drew off the attention 
of the elephant from the coolies by shouting, 
as we awaited him on our vantage ground, 
on the brow of the hill. No sooner did the 
enemy perceive us than he turned away from 
the tree, which he seemed intent on bringing 
down, and made directly for the spot on 
which we were drawn up ready to receive 
him. Our grooms had climbed high into the 
largest tree in our vicinity. We were aware 
that firing at random, or at any great distance 
was useless, and that our only chance of 
bringing him down lay in the accuracy of 
our aim, and his proximity when we fired. 
We therefore awaited his approach with 
what calmness we could. 

Before the elephant had come within 
range, however, " Uncle Toby, "my excellent 
steed, took fright at the dreadful picture 
before him, and, starting off, bore me with 
frightful rapidity down the steepest part of 
the hill's side. What became of Ilofer 1 did 
not then know, although I heard the clear 
ring of his rifle behind me as I was borne 



triumphantly down the bank. His horse, as 
I subsequently learned, had behaved ad- 
mirably well; never swerving in the least 
until he had fired. His ball, we afterwards 
discovered, had entered the left eye, and 
must have given excruciating pain, but was 
not fatal. Hofer then wheeled round his 
horse, and followed me down the declivity ; 
aware that the elephant, from the great 
weight of its head, is unable to go down a 
steep hill with any rapidity. There was this 
difference, however, between us, that whilst 
Uncle Toby had the bit clinched in his teeth 
and was perfectly unmanageable from ex- 
cessive fear, Hofer's horse was completely in 
hand, and he could do with him what he 
pleased. The elephant labored after us, 
blood streaming from his eye ; and his whole 
appearance indicated excessive fury and 
intense pain. 

When I had now nearly reached the base 
of the hill — our enemy having been left very 
far behind — my horse, in his wild gallop, 
threw his fore-legs into a little swamp, 
where they sank deeply. I was thrown far 
away over his head, whilst he rolled help- 
lessly on his side. I was not hurt ; but the 
loss of a moment might have been the loss of 
my life, so jumping up, I grasped my rifle 
more firmly than ever, and stood upon the 
defensive. A moment of intense interest to 
both of us succeeded. Life or death hung 
upon the issue ; for the elephant, having 
witnessed the accident, left the pursuit of 
Hofer, and directed his steps towards me. 
There might have been time to climb into a 
tree, but I did not make the attempt. My 
whole mind was on fire with the earnest 
desire to bring down the monster. Hofer, 
seeing what had happened, drew up his 
horse on the hill's side — the elephant, still 
advancing, soon came in a line with him, his 
left, and now blind side, being turned towards 
him. Seeing that he was not observed, 
Hofer dismounted, and proceeded to take 
aim immediately behind the shoulder-blade, 
as the animal labored heavily along. Pre- 
cisely at the moment when I discharged both 
barrels full into the broad forehead, Hofer's 
ball penetrated his side. 

A momentary check to the animal's pro- 
gress seemed the only result of this double 
fire at the instant. He advanced twenty 
paces or so farther, and then fell headlong 
to the earth ; turning over gradually on his 
right side, and beating the ground ineffec- 
tually with his trunk. 



Among the very loveliest of the Virtues is 
Gratitude. How it purifies the heart, — and 
hallows the affections ! To feel grateful for favors 
received (we speak experimentally), is to enjoy a 
sweet foretaste of Heaven upon earth. 

Though called His " lowest works," yet these declaie 
God's goodness beyond thought, — His power Divine. 
. Milton. 

The phenomena which excite our 
wonder, and engage our attention in con- 
nection with inert matter, are truly sur- 
prising : and they impress the mind with 
admiration of the stupendous scale on which 
many of them are displayed, and the vast 
periods of time over which the full process 
of their development extends. 

But far more wonderful is the principle of 
life, even when exhibited in its very lowest 
forms of organised existence. The poet has 
been accused of a sentimental exaggeration, 
when, in his indignant protest against cruelty 
to the lower creation, he exclaims — 

The very beetle that we tread upon. 
In mortal suffering feels a pang as great 
As when a giant dies. 

There are, however, both truth and wisdom 
in these lines. That wondrous mechanism 
of limbs, muscles, and feelers, wings and 
eyes, feathery down, or glancing plates of 
mail, which reveal ever new wonders and 
beauties under the microscope, and put to 
shame all the mechanical ingenuity of our 
steam-engines and machinery — that wondrous 
mechanism is Grod's handy work, and the life 
which we thoughtlessly extinguish is His gift, 
and its enjoyment one of the ends for which 
He created it. 

The butterfly, which flits from flower to 
flower, the house-fly finding verge enough in 
the sunbeam that enters through some un- 
guarded chink, or even the unsightly grub, 
or ear-wig, that seem to the careless eye as 
blots on the garden, and intruders among 
pleasant fruits and flowers ; all are capable 
of an enjoyment as amply suited to the ca- 
pacities of their nature, as we are of pleasure, 
and also of pain. How harsh an act is it, 
needlessly, and without provocation, to tread 
out that mysterious and wonderful gift of 
life, which not all the wisdom or ingenuity of 
man could restore ! This mysterious prin- 
ciple of life is the greatest and most incom- 
prehensible wonder that excites our curious 
interest, and proves the limits of our human 
knowledge. The body animated with life, 
while wrapt in the restorative repose of sleep, 
and the same body in the destroying grasp 
of death, seem at the first glance so nearly 
similar, that they are not always to be dis- 
criminated. Yet how mighty is the differ- 
ence between 

Death and his brother Sleep ! 

The contrast puts all the boasted wisdom of 
man to shame. 

The points of resemblance, as well as of 
contrast, between animal and vegetable life, 
present subjects of interesting study. The 



mode of subsistence of the vegetable, and 
almost the first property necessary for its 
life, is the power of absorbing the needful 
constituents of its being from the surrounding 
elements. It is, accordingly, provided with a 
root by which it takes hold of the soil, and 
by the direct agency of which it is fed. 

A distinguished botanist has indeed aptly 
defined a plant as " a living body deprived of 
sensation or power of moving from place to 
place, and fed by means of external roots." 
With these it imbibes from the soil in which 
it is placed, the needful fluid or sap by which 
it is sustained ; and by this apparently simple 
apparatus the whole important and compli- 
cated chemical processes are carried on, and 
the crude soil converted into the needful 
constituents of vegetable matter. The 
elementary bodies which form the essential 
constituents of sap are — carbon, oxygen, 
hydrogen, and nitrogen. These combine and 
form various secondary bodies, in which state 
they are most frequently absorbed by the 
plants. For this purpose, the root possesses 
certain structural characteristics, adapting it 
to its peculiar functions. The ramifications 
are irregular, differing in this respect from 
the symmetrical arrangement of the branches. 
The smaller divisions, or fibrils, as they are 
called, consist of little bundles of ducts, or 
spiral vessels, surrounded by woody fibres, 
lying in a mass of cellular tissue. Towards 
the point of these fibrils the tissue is loose, 
and the outer covering wanting ; so that they 
rapidly absorb the fluid with which they are 
surrounded and brought in contact. 

Roots are divisible into various classes, 
according to their form, mode of develop- 
ment, duration, &c. ; but the purpose of all is 
the same. They receive and re-adapt the 
food necessary for the sustenance of the 
plant : digesting it, and converting it, with 
the needful aid of light and heat, into the 
healthy sap or vegetable blood which circu- 
lates through the veins of the living plant. 
Adapted as they are also for attaching the 
plant to the soil, they exhibit all the diversity 
which pertains to lowly shrubs or plants, and 
tall umbrageous trees ; the one having only 
its tender rooty fibres, terminating with the 
spongioles or special organs for reception of 
nutritious moisture, while the other are pro- 
vided with ingeniously-adapted and widely- 
branching roots, capable of taking firm hold 
of the ground, and resisting the tremendous 
force with which the tempest assails the 
trees of the forest. This latter character 
peculiarly pertains to plants, as living bodies 
destitute of the power of moving from place 
to place. 

In other respects, however, the roots 
supply the same functions in the plant as 
the absorbent vessels do in the animal. The 
organs of absorption are, indeed, very dif- 

ferently situated in the two ; the animal 
deriving its nutriment from the stomach — an 
internal reservoir, into which it has previously 
introduced the needful and most select ele- 
ments of nourishment ; while the vegetable 
organs of absorption act exclusively on the 
external soil. They do not, however, receive 
all with which they are brought in contact ; 
but select and reject, with a discrimination 
not less wisely adapted to their requirements 
than the instincts of the ower animals. 

The power of absorption by the roots of 
plants has been explained to be due to the 
capillarity of the cellular tissues of which 
they are composed. Such an explanation, 
however, is so far as it seems to~ indicate a 
mere mechanical process, cannot satisfy the 
mind; for the process goes on healthily 
during the life of the plant, but no sooner 
does vitality cease, from whatever cause, than 
these fine capillary tubes, which had acted 
with such seeming mechanical regularity 
before, altogether fail — and the dead plant 
retains its wonderful contrivances of tissues, 
fibrils, spongelets, cells, pores, and sap 
vessels, to as little purpose as the human 
body is possessed of all its wondrous ana- 
tomy, when the spirit has fled away. 

The living principle thus present in the 
plant, and quickened into activity with the 
returning warmth of spring, exhibits a vital 
activity closely allied in some respects to 
that of animals, though in others altogether 
different : and especially in that retention of 
the vital principle under certain conditions, 
as when grain is laid by, or seeds are buried 
in the ground so deep as to be beyond the 
reach of light and air. In this way, also, the 
winter frosts serve to keep the seeds of the 
previous autumn in a dormant state until 
the returning warmth of spring sets them free, 
and, under the genial influence of the warm 
moisture and porous soil, they germinate, 
and shoot up into stem and leaf. Here, how- 
ever, we see one distinct line of argument 
presenting itself to our mind, the force of 
which it is impossible to gainsay or resist. 
The gardener or husbandman, by soils and 
manures, by draining or forcing, — or, again, 
by grafting, transplanting, and training, can 
work many marvellous changes on plants, 
flowers, and fruit ; but the original mystery 
of vegetable life — the vital principle without 
which all else is vain — remains as mysterious 
and inexplicable as ever. 

Reason as philosophy may — by means of 
all the lights of science, and all the wonder- 
ful and mysterious laws which modern dis- 
coveries have revealed — we are still brought 
back to the simple argument of a child, which 
intuitively discerns the necessity of a first 
cause, and finds ample satisfaction in the as- 
surance that God made all these things — 
that He said, " Let it Z>e/" and it was so. 




Good sense and learning may esteem obtain ; 
Humor and wit a laugh, — if rightly ta'en : 
Fair virtue admiration may impart, 
But 'tis good-nature only wins the heart. 


The drying-up a single tear has more 

Of honest Fame than shedding seas of gore. 



that we may anticipate a large influx of new 
subscribers to our Fifth Volume, — this pre- 
sent number affording an excellent oppor- 
tunity for their joining our standard. We 
bid all and each of these new-comers a hearty 
welcome ; and as it is only natural that they 
should wish to know something of us and of 
our objects, we will here offer a few brief 

Our Journal was established with a view 
to make people " think." To accomplish 
this, we have presented everything in its 
own proper color and shape ; invariably 
declaring the truth, and leaving people to 
draw their own inferences. It is only by 
calm and dispassionate reasoning that we 
could ever hope to make converts. Abuse 
is a feeble weapon ; nor is assertion much 
better. W r e love to " prove" all we advance; 
and herein has been our success. The 
amount of good we have effected during the 
past two years, is almost incalculable. In 
that period of time Four Volumes have seen 
the light. We will leave them to speak for 
themselves, and for us. They are " bound " 
to do so. 

Here we would observe, that the one great 
object of our life is to make people natural. 
It is the hardest task we could have under- 
taken ! The world we live in is made up of 
deception. Habit sanctions it ; and Use has 
become a second nature. Whilst breaking 
a lance at the follies of the world, we incur 
the most deadly resentment of some, the 
anger of others, the contempt of a few, — but 
the praise of all good men. These last hold 
up our hands, and keep us brave in the battle. 
Our Retrospect then is a delightful one. 
We have won a great victory, and planted 
our standard high upon the necks of our 
enemies. The immense efforts made to anni- 
hilate us, by certain parties, have been a great 
failure. They feel it, and now slink away 
abashed. Perseverance has triumphed over 
spleen and malice ; and the Public now 
recognise this Journal as — their " own." 

Now for our Prospect. This is so entirely 
in the hands of those who wish us well, — 
whose dear families have derived lasting 
benefit from a perusal of our pages, that we 
cannot see cause for anything but rejoicing. 
Our sentiments stand recorded. And as for 
our plain-speaking, it is so thoroughly esti- 
mated, — our honesty of purpose so apparent, 
that nothing more remains to be added. 
As regards the features of the Journal, 

they will remain unchanged. Natural His- 
tory will, of course, have its usual place. 
Popular Science, too, and the Domestic 
Arts and Virtues, will be introduced as usual. 
In addition, all that can tend to make Society 
good, amiable, natural, and happy, will be 
most sedulously cared for. 

We have often said, and we now repeat it — 
that all time which is not properly occupied 
is time thrown away. Nor can we consider 
anything worth living for, unless it be the 
pleasure experienced from being made useful 
to our fellow-men. For this do we live. In 
this do we delight. 


Living friendly, feeling friendly, 

Acting fairly to all men, 
Seeking to do that to others 

They may do to me again ; 
Hating no man, scorning no man, 

Wronging none by word or deed ; 
But forbearing, soothing, serving, 

Thus I live, — and this -my creed. 

Harsh condemning, fierce contemning, 

Is of little Christian use ; 
One soft word of kindly peace 

Is worth a torrent of abuse. 
Calling things bad, calling men bad, 

Adds but darkness to their night ; 
If thou would'st improve thy brother, 

Let thy goodness be his light. 

I have felt, and known how bitter 

Human coldness makes the world ; 
Ev'ry bosom round me frozen, 

Not an eye with pity pearled. 
Still my heart, with kindness teeming, 

Glads when other hearts are glad ; 
And my eye a tear-drop findeth 

At the sight of others sad. 

Ah ! be kind — life hath no secret 

For our happiness like this ; 
Kindly hearts are seldom sad ones — 

Blessing ever bringeth bliss ; 
Lend a helping hand to others, 

Smile though all the world should frown ; 
Man is man — we all are brothers, 

Black and white ; yes, red and brown. 

Man is man, through all gradations ; 

Little recks it where he stands, 
Or what his creed, through all the nations 

Scattered over many lands. 
Man is man by form and feature, 

Man by vice and virtue too ; 
Man in all one common nature 

Speaks and binds us brothers true. 



The Chinese have a saying, — that an unlucky 
word dropped from the tongue, cannot be brought 
back again by a coach and six horses. 




There is not any benefit so glorious in itself, but it may 
yet be exceedingly sweetened and improved by the 
manner of conferring it. The virtue, I ki ow, rests in 
the intent ; the profit in the judicious application of the 
matter. But the beauty and ornament of an offligation 
are seen in the manner of it.— Seneca. 


Old Year, to us have charms 
that are indescribable. It is 
at such times that we are able 
to form our estimate of human 
nature, and, by comparison, to 
rejoice exceedingly at what has 
fallen to our share. 

We observe at these seasons strange con- 
trarieties. Hearts hard as adamant, — closely 
hugging what they call " their own." People 
with narrow souls, — rich in worldly posses- 
sions, but grudging the merest trifle from 
their store to make a poor fellow-creature's 
heart glad. Purse-proud Pharisees — (want- 
ing for nothing but a tender heart) ; — warmly 
and sumptuously clad, looking down with 
supreme contempt upon the shivering 
wretches that everywhere cross their path. 
In a word, Mammon riding rough-shod over 
all the better feelings of our common nature. 
We never fail to recognise much of this, 
during the festive seasons of social rejoicings. 
If the iron -hearted performers in this drama 
of life could only hear expressed the stifled 
maledictions that rapidly course through the 
arteries of our heart, we imagine they would 
feel startled. These men, who vaunt so 
much about the " dignity of human nature," 
— how they cumber the earth ! 

Well ; let us change the scene. Happy 
are we to say, that we do not boast of having 
buttoned up our pockets,* nor of having 
hardened our better feelings against the 
wants, necessities, and even pleasures of those 
with whom we have been (however distantly) 
associated. Oh — no ! We are not rich, — far 
from it. Our purse is consumptive, — very, 
but our heart lies at the bottom of it ; and 
thus, somehow or other, do we always contrive 
to find something to go on with. Odd, too, 
is it, but religiously true, — that in propor- 
tion to the little good it has been in our 
power to dispense to others, in an increasing 

* These people, who boast so of having kept 
their purse-strings undrawn during the late in- 
clement season — and who glory in their having 
" done" all applicants out of their Christmas gra- 
tuities, are of kin to those wretches who, having 
travelled in an omnibus from the City nearly to 
the end of their journey, yet refuse to pay, 
because the poor horses cannot stand upon the 
brow of a slippery hill, or safely proceed beyond a 
certain distance ! We have seen many of these 
liberal-minded worthies ; and have not failed to 
" open" upon them as they deserved. — Ed. K. J. 

ratio have we been ourself benefited ! And 
how soundly we have slept ! How pleasantly 
the days and evenings have passed ! What 
delight have we found in those little inter- 
changes of love and affection which make 
this world such a perfect Paradise ! 

The readers of Our Journal are so select, 
and their minds so refined, that we feel quite 
sure they understand what we are speaking 
of; and not only understand it, but enjoy it. 
w Little things," as we have recently re- 
marked, are the very lungs of our existence. 
They make up, collectively, all we know — or 
can know, of human happiness. 

This brings us to the real object of the 
present Paper, which is to record, with feel- 
ings of gratitude, the large share of " Little 
Kindnesses" that has again been showered 
upon our head; — as an "annual custom." 
May that custom never be discontinued ! 

It would be idle, — nay hardly possible, for 
us to go into detail about the many offerings 
of love and friendship that have reached us 
from all parts of the country, — both from 
those who have seen us and love us, and 
from those who, not having yet seen us, 
nevertheless love us dearly. Day after day, 
hour after hour, — as the old year waned 
and whilst its successor was preparing to 
greet us with all due honor — did the Post, 
Rail, or private Messenger bring some tribute 
of affectionate remembrance for " Our 
Editor." To note, too, the taste of the 
selections, — so varied ; so useful ; so orna- 
mental ; and some, so savory — so provoking 
to the appetite ! 

Then the packing ! What a number of dear, 
delicate fingers,* and ambling little feet must 
have been at work for us ! And with what 
extreme care and precision was every sepa- 
rate article laid side by side with its fellow 
companion ! How readily can we enter into 
the feelings of each one of our guardian 
angels, as they first set them out, — then 
arranged them ; and finally completed the 
nailing and fastening of those pretty, attrac- 
tive, and well-stored boxes, destined to re- 
joice our old but ever tender heart ! We 
see the crowd of smiling faces now. Oh — yes ! 

We can imagine nothing on earth more 
delightful than the reciprocating of " Little 
Kindnesses." Never mind the estimated 
value in £, s. d. The idea of such a thing is 
monstrous. What the heart bestows lovingly, 
is priceless. Some people are most pleased 
when they receive presents ; and care little 
about sending them. Such are not in our 

* There was not wanting, among the rest, the 
well-known, beautiful direction, by the fair little 
hand of which we took special notice in our 
Third Volume, page 7. Time has since revealed 
the owner of that fair hand ; and we accept her 
annual tribute of kindness with the most sincere 
pleasure. — Ed. K. J. 

Vol. V.— 2. 



secret, and cannot share our happiness. We 
quite agree with the Wise Man, who said : — 
" I had rather never receive a kindness, than 
never bestow one. Not to return a benefit 
is the greater sin ; but not to confer it is the 
earlier." We grant that these feelings are 
poetical ; but what is life without poetry ? 
The common jog-trot way of the world is 
sickening ; nor can we help marvelling that 
the lower creation should in these matters be 
so infinitely in advance of Man. 

We have ever said, and we cling to the 
opinion still— that selfishness is at the bottom 
of every action of our lives. If we do an 
act of kindness, we do it for self-gratification. 
It gives us pleasure to do it. This is a pretty 
way of paying a compliment ; and as it is the 
simple truth, let each one of us make the 
most of it. 

Above all things, let us remember, — that 
the time for rendering " Little Kindnesses" 
is, — not once a year only, but always. Society 
is so constituted, that, if we would continue 
happy, we must for ever be engaged in labors 
of love and works of benevolence. 

Such are our thoughts ; such is our " Be- 
lief." And may all to whom we are so pleas- 
ingly indebted, accept these few remarks as 
the offering of a grateful, loving heart. 


Say, have you in the morning 

Beheld the dewy gem, 
So beautiful, adorning 

The rose's diadem ? 
Or have you in the wildwood, 

Where clear the streamlet flows 
Beheld in summer's childhood 

The blushing, bright primrose ? 

Have you beheld the lily 

Bloom on the water's breast ; 
Or, in the dewy valley, 

The gowan's modest crest ? 
Then ye have seen sweet Nature 

Her loveliest charms display, 
As they beamed in every feature 

Of her I've lost for aye. 

Her eye was lit with beauty, 

Her coral lip with love ; 
Her bosom, true to duty, 

Was guileless as the dove. 
How tenderly, how kindly, 

Love's accents from her fell ! 
And, oh, how warmly,, fondly 

I loved my Isabel ! 

In vain for me the flowers 

Of spring or summer blow, 
And from the rosy bowers, 

In vain doth music flow ; 
The song-birds by the river 

Kemind me all too well — 
That stilled, and stilled for ever, 

Is the voice of Isabel ! 

J. C. 



Yes ; thou art ever near me ! "When the Spring, 

Dress'd in a robe of joyous innocence, 

Tells me of happiness, I hear thy voice, — 

Its soothing cadence falling on mine ear, 

Like the soft music of a seraph's lyre ; 

And, when the Summer's sun beams on the face 

Of Nature, with ineffable delight 

I listen to the voice of melody, — 

Feast on the happiness that Hope bestows ; 

And in the brilliant scene of loveliness 

That faithfully recalls the joys we prize, 

The flowers we love, — I recognise thy smile, 

Then in my breast a Paradise exists, 

And thou art its creator ! 

Autumn's breeze, 
Laden with odors from a richer shore, 
Bears me thy sigh. Again I hear thee speak 
Of brighter days : and softly whispering 
Kind words of pity, bid me weep no more! 
Thus have I braved cold Winter's bitter storm, 
And heeded not the wild, — the fearful blast, 
That revell'd in destruction. For thy love 
Beam'd on the rugged path of life, and bless'd 
The heart that claims its happiness from thee. 
Still will I cherish in affection's dream 
Each look of kindness that doth picture thee ; 
And when my fancy paints it faithfully 
I will impress it on my memory, — 
For thou indeed art precious ! 


W t e called attention, in a late number, 
to the various popular Almanacs of the 
season ; and, amongst others, we glanced at 
the " Lady's Almanac." We are anxious to 
do ample justice to the merits of this last ; 
and therefore give as a fair specimen of its 
claim to popularity, an interesting article on 
the present month, by Thomas Miller. His 
remarks about " Winter feeling that his end 
is drawing nigh," are sweetly poetical. So 
also are his remarks about " Ladies, Love, 
and Flowers," — the three inseparables. But 
let us hear him sing his own love-song : — 

February is the childhood of the year. 
Like streams loosened from their icy fetters, 
that rush with a singing sound down the 
hills and through the meadows, — so does it 
now break loose and makeapleasant prattling 
in those places where silence has so long 
reigned. In the early notes of the speckled 
thrush and golden-billed blackbird, we hear 
its voice ; for in calling to and imitating them, 
it finds utterance for the joyous feelings 
which now stir within its young heart. At 
every new burst of sun-colored crocuses, it 
raises a shout of wonder — at every opening 
of the sky-stained hyacinths, a cry of delight. 
Hither and thither it runs to peep at the 
silver buds on the willow, the spots of green 
on the gooseberry bushes, and the early 
leaves on the elder tree ; sometimes shading 



its eyes with its hand, while looking at the 
sun, or smiling to see that pale primrose 
color which now and then spreads over the 
sky. Every day it discovers some new 
object, of pleasure, some new source of de- 
light, in the putting forth of a fresh flower, 
or the low note of an additional bird. It 
has shaken the snow of Winter from its 
flowing hair, and melted the hoary frost- 
work with its warm breath ; and there is a 
look of love in its clear blue eye, while 
watching the birds pair on St. Valentine's Day. 

Sometimes through the sunny flashes that 
fall upon the landscape in the course of this 
month, the lark will suddenly spring up ; 
and beating against the wind, send out a few 
shivering notes, which are only answered by 
the ploughman's whistle ; for. with a few ex- 
ceptions, the great band of birds are silent, 
and many of them far away over the sea. 
So the messenger of Spring will again des- 
cend, and hide himself somewhere a little 
longer ; it may be, grieving all the while for 
the absence of the flowers. If the season is 
mild, the starry celandine will show its yellow 
flowers under the sheltering hedge-rows ; and 
on mossy banks that face the sunny south, 
those foremost heralds of Spring's pale prim- 
roses, which Milton says "die unmarried," 
will be found in bloom. A bud will be per- 
ceived here, and a bell there, where last 
month all was brown and bare, and desolate ; 
for there is a stir of life about the earth and 
in the air, though Nature hath not yet 
thoroughly awoke ; many a little flower is 
sitting up and rubbing its eyes, which, by- 
and-by, will be wide open. 

Winter seems to feel that his end is 
drawing nigh — that the branches which he 
struck numb and lifeless, and left for dead, 
again feel the sap stirring within their veins. 
Even the little round daisy-buds begin to rise 
under him, and break his rest ; and he knows 
that the time of his departure is at hand. 
The low humming in the air, and the increased 
twittering in the copse, proclaim that Spring 
is on her way ; and that unless he makes 
haste to retire, he will be buried beneath the 
approaching flowers. He knows by the 
melting snow-flakes as they fall, that the air 
is already impregnated by her warm breath ; 
and that he must hurry back to the regions 
of icy sleet and howling storm. For this is 
the old month of Valentines and love-making, 
began at first by the birds ; but tradition has 
not even preserved the date of this ancient 
wooing, which commenced so long, long ago. 
It is only the British birds who remain with 
us all the year, that are said to choose their 
mates on Valentine Day, and remain true to 
them until death. Those which go over the 
sea and return again, are not so constant. 
The English birds only have true, faithful, 
loving, and constant hearts. 

It is said that until St. Valentine came 
amongst them, there was squabbling in the 
shrubs and battling amid the branches, and 
quarrelling noises around the nests, — that 
this bird was ever wishing to change, and 
that bird was never happy. Whilst a third 
was envious and jealous, and ever pecking at 
his partner, because her plumage was not so 
bright and rich as hers in the neighboring 
nest. Some turned up their bills at the 
insects their husbands brought them; and 
said that, when single, they had not been 
used to such food. Others complained that 
the hips and haws were coarse and hard ; and 
wished that they had gone over the sea, 
when they had the offer, with that fine foreign 
bird, that came and sang so sweetly in May, 
and went away in June (he, like Leander, 
was drowned while crossing the Hellespont). 
Even the doves at times murmured at one 
another, instead of cooing ; until good 
Bishop Valentine came and touched them ; 
and then their purple beaks breathed only 
vows of love, and cooed promises of faithful 
endearment and everlasting affection. And 
then he at last touched the tender heart of 
Woman ; and when she saw the young buds 
opening, and the first flowers blooming, there 
was a milder and softer light in her eye, and 
a sweeter and more heart-tender tone in her 
voice ; and she too began to confess the 
power of good St. Valentine. And from 
that time the whole air around her has ever 
since breathed of love. 

Ladies, Love, and Flowers are inseparable. 
They were linked together when the first 
golden mornings broke over the garden of 
Eden, and while " the stars sang together for 
joy." Flowers are God's messengers, — they 
have descended to us pure as when they 
were first planted in Paradise, before Eve 
was tempted and fell. The early dew that 
then hung upon them is undimmed ; the 
rounded pearls which now tremble on their 
bells in the morning breeze, showed not 
brighter to her eyes than they now appear 
to her fair daughters. Fair are they as she 
herself was, when our first father startled 
her — gazing at her own sweet shadow in the 


When the gentle morn is breaking, 
And the misty shadows flee, 

From a dream of bliss awaking, — 
Then, my love, I sigh for thee. 

When the noon-day sun shines o'er me, 
Shaded by thy fav'rite tree, 

Fancy bririgs thy form before me ; 
Then, my love, I sigh for thee. 

When the ev'ning dews are falling, 
And the moonbeams smile on me, 

Memory thy sweet smile recalling — 
Then, love, falls the tear for thee ! 





I met her in the flowery month 

Of blossom-laden Spring ; 
When trees put forth their tender leaves, 

And larks soared high to sing. 
We wandered where the primrose grew, 

Deep in the forest glade; 
There vowing naught save death should part 

Me and my village maid. 

When Summer came, with sunny days, 

And soft blue-hanging skies, 
Throwing a gladness all around, 

Just like her gentle eyes ; 
Again we sought the twilight woods, 

Where hazels formed a shade, 
And sweeter than the speckled thrush 

Sang my fair village maid. 

When Autumn came in solemn gold, 

And yellow leaves were strown, 
I saw that Death had marked my love, 

Too soon ! to be his own. 
I tended her by night and day ; 

But when the gleaners strayed 
Across the stubbly harvest -fields, 

Death stole my village maid. 

Then Winter came with hollow voice ; — 

I heard the howling wind 
Ring through the savage naked woods, 

Now gloomy like my mind : 
Yet still I lived, — although I prayed 

Beside her to be laid ; 
But Death would lend no ear to me, 

He had my village maid. 


Henry G. 

Pictorial Calendar of the 
Edited by Mary Howitt. 

The name of Henry G. Bohn will never 
die. His innate love for Natural History 
from boyhood, has led him to spend a large 
fortune in trying to make others as fond of 
it as himself; and the books he has issued 
are so numerous, so choice, so "winning," 
and withal so exceedingly " cheap," that we 
do sincerely hope he has not labored in vain. 
We are proud of him as an ally ; and glory in 
giving an extended publicfty to his exertions 
in the public service. "We have said this 
many times before ; but we gladly repeat it. 
" May his shadow never grow less !" 

The book to which we would now direct 
special attention, professes (and performs 
even more than it promises) to exhibit the 
pleasures, pursuits, and characteristics of 
country life, for every month in the year. 
Moreover, it embodies the whole of that 
imperishable work — " Aikin's Calendar of 
Nature." Is this aW? No! There are, in 
addition, more than one hundred beautiful 
illustrative engravings on wood. 

Mary Howitt — everybody loves Mary 

Howitt — being the Editor, it would be super- 
fluous to comment on the provision she has 
made for our enjoyment. We may " cut, and 
come again;" and must ever feel a still 
growing appetite for — more ! 

And how sweetly natural are the pictorial 
embellishments of the Calendar ! They are 
lovely to behold. But so indeed are all the 
illustrations. They savor of Ver ceternum, — 
a perpetual Spring. 

To give a specimen of so extensively- 
varied a Bill of Fare is puzzling ; but as it 
must be done, let us pounce upon a " season- 
able" article, — not original, but acknowledged 
to be borrowed from (another of our sweet- 
hearts) Miss Mitford : — 


At noon to-day, January 23rd, says Miss 
Mitford, one of our pleasantest writers on the 
country, I and my white greyhound, Mayflower, 
set out for a walk into a very beautiful world — 
a sort of silent fairy-land — a creation of that 
matchless magician the hoar-frost. There had 
been ,just snow enough to cover the earth and all 
its colors with one sheet of pure and uniform 
white, and just time enough since the snow had 
fallen to allow the hedges to be freed of their 
fleecy load, and clothed with a delicate coating of 
rime. The atmosphere was deliciously calm; 
soft, even mild, in spite of the thermometer ; no 
perceptible air, but a stillness that might almost 
be felt ; the sky rather grey than blue, throwing 
out in bold relief the snow-covered roofs of our 
village, and the rimy trees that rise above them ; 
and the sun shining dimly as through a veil, 
giving a pale, fair light, like the moon, only 
brighter. There was a silence, too, that might 
become the moon, as we stood at our gate looking 
up the quiet street ; a Sabbath-like pause of work 
and play, rare on a work day ; nothing was 
audible but the pleasant hum of frost, — that low, 
monotonous sound which is perhaps the nearest 
approach that life and nature can make to absolute 
silence. The very wagons as they came down 
the hill along the beaten track of crisp yellowish 
frost-dust, glide along like shadows ; even May's 
bounding footsteps, at her height of glee and of 
speed, f.ill like snow upon snow. * * * 

These murmuring cogitations have brought us 
up the hill, and halfway across the light and airy 
common, with its bright expanse of snow and its 
clusters of cottages, whose turf-fires send such 
wreaths of smoke sailing up the air, and diffuse 
such aromatic fragrance around. And now comes 
the delightful sound of childish voices, ringing 
with .glee and merriment almost from beneath our 
feet. There is a shouting from the deep, irregular 
pool, all glass now, where, on two long, smooth 
slUes, half a -dozen ragged urchins are slipping 
along in tottering triumph. Half-a-dozen steps 
bring us to the bunk just above them. May can 
hardly resist the temptation of joining her friends, 
for most of the varlets are her acquaintance. But 
" come, May ! " and up she springs as light as a 
bird. The road is gay now ; carts and post- 
chaises, and girls in red cloaks, and afar off, 
looking almost like a toy, the coa^-h. It meets 
us fast and soon. How much happier the walkers 

look than the riders ; especially the frost bitten 
gentleman, and the shivering lady with the 
invisible face, sole passengers of that commodious 
machine ! Hooded, veiled, and bonneted as she 
is, one sees from her attitude how miserable she 
would look uncovered. 

Now. we have reached the trees, — the beautiful 
trees ! never so beautiful as to-day. Imagine the 
effect of a straight and regular double avenue of 
oaks, nearly a mile long, arching over head, and 
closing into perspective, like the roofs and columns 
of a cathedral, every tree and branch encrusted 
with the bright and delicate congelation of hoar- 
frost, white and pure as snow, delicate and defined 
as carved ivory. How beautiful it is, how uni- 
form, how various, how filling, how satiating to 
the mind — above all, how melancholy ! There is 
a thrilling awfulness, an intense feeling of simple 
power in that naked and colorless beauty, which 
falls on the earth like the thoughts of death — 
death, pure and glorious and smiling — but still 
death. Sculpture has always the same effect on 
my imagination, and painting never. Color is 

We are now at the top of this magnificent 
avenue, and at the top of a steep eminence com- 
manding a wide view over four counties — a land- 
scape of snow. A deep lane leads abruptly down 
the hill ; a mere narrow cart-track, sinking 
between high banks clothed with fern and furze, 
and broom, crowned with luxuriant hedgerows, 
and famous for their summer smell of thyme. 
How lovely these banks are now — the tall weeds 
and the gorse fixed and stiffened in the hoar-frost, 
which fringes round the bright prickly holly, the 
pendant foliage of the bramble, and the deep 
orange-leaves of the pollard oak. Oh, this is rime 
in its loveliest form ! And there is still a berry 
here and there on the holly, "blushing in its 
natural coral" through the delicate tracery ; still 
a stray hip or haw for the birds, who abound 
always here. The poor birds, how tame they are, 
how sadly tame ! There is the beautiful and rare 
crested wren, that shadow of a bird, as White of 
Selborne calls it, perched in the middle of the 
hedge, nestling as it were amongst the cold bare 
boughs, seeking, poor pretty thing, for the warmth 
it will not find. And there, further on, just under 
the bank by the slender rivulet, which still trickles 
between its transparent fantastic margin of thin 
ice, as if it were a thing of life, — there, with a 
swift, scudding motion, flits, in short low flights, 
the gorgeous king-fisher, its magnificent plumage 
of scarlet and blue flashing in the sun like the 
glories of some tropical bird. He is come for 
water to this little spring by the hill side, — water 
which even his long bill and slender head can 
hardly reach, so nearly do the fantastic forms of 
those garland-like icy margins meet over the tiny 
stream beneath. It is rarely that one sees the 
shy beauty so close or so long; and it is pleasant 
to see him in the grace and beauty of his natural 
liberty, the only way to look at a bird. We used, 
before we lived in a street, to fix a little board 
outside the parlor-window, and cover it with bread 
crumbs in the hard weather. It was quite 
delightful to see the pretty things come and feed — 
to conquer their shyness, and do away their mis- 
trust. First came the more social tribes, the 
robin-redbreast and the wren, cautiously and 

suspiciously picking up a crumb on the wing, 
with the little keen bright eye fixed on the 
window : then they would stop for two pecks ; 
then stay till they were satisfied. The shyer 
birds, tamed by their example, came next ; and 
at last one saucy fellow of a blackbird — a sad 
glutton, he would clear the board in two minutes 
— used to tap his yellow bill against the window 
for more. How we loved the fearless confidence 
of that fine, frank-hearted creature ! And surely 
he loved us. I wonder the practice is not more 


January 28i/i. — We have had rain, and snow, 
and frost, and rain again : four days of absolute 
confinement. Now it is a thaw and a flood ; but 
our light gravelly soil and country boots, and 
country hardihood, will carry us through. What 
a dripping, comfortless day it is ! just like the last 
days of November; no sun, no sky, grey or blue; 
one low, over-hanging, dark, dismal cloud, like 
London smoke. Mayflower is out coursing, too. 
Never mind. Up the hill again ! Walk we must. 
Oh, what a watery world to look back upon ! 
Thames, Kennet, Loddon — all overflowed; our 
famous town, inland once, turned into a sort of 
Venice. C. Park converted into an island ; and a 
long range of meadows, from B. to W., one huge, 
unnatural lake, with trees growing out of it. Oh, 
what a watery world ! — I will look at it no longer 
I will walk on. 

The road is alive again. Noise is re-born. 
Wagons creak, horses splash, carts rattle, and 
pattens paddle through the dirt with more than 
their usual clink. The common has its fine old 
tints of green and brown ; and its old variety of 
inhabitants — horses, cows, sheep, pigs, and 
donkeys. The ponds are unfrozen, except when 
some melancholy piece of melting ice floats 
sullenly on the water; and cackling geese and 
gabbling ducks have replaced the sliders and 
skaters. The avenue is chill and dark, the hedges 
are dripping, the lanes knee-deep, and all nature 
is in a state of dissolution and thaw. 

We know " something" about thaw, this 
year ; but we would much prefer not to go 
into particulars. The recollection of it 
sticks to us ! 

Little Ferns for Fanny's Little 
Friends. With Illustrations by 
Birket Foster. Nathaniel Cooke. 

That " Fanny Fern " is our sweetheart, is 
well known to all the world. Our pages are 
kept wholesome by the outpourings of her 
gentle spirit, and the minds of our readers 
are refreshed and purified by her gems of 

This little book, shining in its scarlet coat, 
inlaid with gold, is an inexhaustible treasury 
of good things, — profitable to young and 
old. In the simplest of forms, it brings 
under our notice everything that can tend to 
make us good, thoughtful, kind, and bene- 
volent. It is divided into short chapters,— 
each on a distinct topic; and is illustrated 
throughout with very beautiful engravings. 



But why linger we thus on the threshold ? 
Let us prove what we say by giving examples. 
On the present occasion, we select three 
subjects for extract. The first, il Little 
Benny," reminds us strongly of an article 
from our own pen, on " Kensall- Green Ce- 
metery " (see Vol. II., p. 154). We called 
attention, we remember, to a poetical tomb- 
stone, whereon appeared these simple words — 

" itjr* irauB nf 


and we commented at some length upon the 
general want of taste in these matters. 

Our second excerpt will be " A Little Boy 
with a Big Heart ; " and the third, " Rosalie 
and Hetty." Whoever reads these, and ap- 
preciates the feelings of the writer, will 
assist in circulating her work to the ends of 
the earth. 

"little benny." 

So the simple head-stone said. Why did my 
eyes fill ? I never saw the little creature. I never 
looked in his laughing eye, or heard his merry 
shout, or listened for his tripping tread ; I never 
pillowed his little head, or bore his little form, or 
smoothed his silky locks, or laved his dimpled 
limbs, or fed his cherry lips with dainty bits, or 
kissed his rosy cheek as he lay sleeping. 

I did not see his eye grow dim ; or his little 
hand droop powerless ; or the dew of agony gather 
on his pale forehead. I stood not with clasped 
hands, and suspended breath, nor watched the 
look that comes but once, flit over his cherub face. 
And yet, " Little Benny," my tears are falling; 
for somewhere, I know, there's an empty crib, a 
vacant chair, useless robes and toys, a desolate 
hearth-stone, and a weeping mother. 

"Little Benny!" 

It was all her full heart could utter; and it wa 
enough. It tells the whole story. 


A rich man was little Georgey's father ! So 
many houses, and shops, and farms as he owned ; 
so many horses and carriages ; such a big house 
as he lived in, by the Park, and so many servants 
as he had in it, — but he loved little Georgey 
better than any of them, and bought him toys 
enough to fill a shop, live animals enough to stock 
a menagerie, and jackets and trousers enough to 
clothe half the boys in New York. 

Georgey was a pretty boy ; he had a broad, 
noble forehead, large, dark, loving eyes, and a 
form as straight and lithe as a little Indian's. His 
mother was very proud of him, — not because he 
was good, but because he was pretty. She was a 
very foolish woman, and talked to him a great 
deal about his fine clothes, and his curling hair ; 
but for all that, she didn't manage to spoil 
Georgey. He didn't care an old marble, not he, 
for all the fine clothes in Christendom ; and would 
have been glad to have had every curl on his 
merry little head clipped off. 

Georgey had no brothers nor sisters. He was so 
sorry for that — he would rather have had such a 
playmate than all the toys his father bought him. 
His little heart was brimfull of love, and his birds, 

and rabbits, and ponies were well enough, but 
they couldn't say, " Georgey, I love you." 
Neither could he make them understand what he 
was thinking about ; so he wearied of them, and 
would often linger in the street, and look after 
the little groups of children so wistfully, that I 
quite pitied him. I used to think that, with all 
his money, he wasn't half as happy as little Pat 
and Neil Connor, two little Irish brothers, who 
played hop-scotch every day under my window. 

It was a very cold day in January. Jack Frost 
had been out all day on a frolic, and was still 
busily at work. He had drawn all sorts of pic- 
tures on the window panes, such as beautiful trees 
and flowers, and great towering castles, and tall- 
masted ships, and church spires, and little cot- 
tages (so oddly shaped) ; beside birds that " Au- 
dubon " never dreamed of, and animals that Noah 
never huddled into the ark. Then he festooned 
all the eaves, and fences, and trees, and bushes 
with crystal drops, which sparkled and glittered 
in the sunbeams like royal diamonds. Then he 
hung icicles on the poor old horses' noses, and 
tripped up the heels of precise old bachelors, and 
sent the old maids spinning round on the side- 
walks, till they were perfectly ashamed of them- 
selves ; and then he got into the houses, and burst 
and cracked all the water pitchers, and choked up 
the steady old pump, so that it might as well 
have been without a nose as with one ; and pinched 
the cheeks of the little girls till they were as red 
as a pulpit cushion, blew right through the key- 
hole on grand-pa's poor, rheumatic old back, and 
ran round the street corner, tearing open folks' 
cloaks, and shawls, and furred wrappers, till they 
shook as if they had an ague fit. I verily believe 
he'd just as quick trip up our minister's heels as 
yours or mine ! Oh, he is a graceless rogue — 
that Jack Frost ! and many's the time he's tipped 
Aunt Fanny's venerable nose with indigo. 

Goorgey didn't care a penny whistle for the 
fellow, all muffled up to the chin in his little 
wadded velvet sack, with a rich cashmere scarf of 
his mother's wound about his neck, and a velvet 
cap crushed down over his bright, curly head. 

How the sleighs did fly past ! with their gaily- 
fringed buffaloes, and prancing horses necklaced 
with little inkling bells. How merrily the pretty 
ladies peeped from out their gay worsted hoods ! 
Oh ! it was a pretty sight, — Georgey liked it, — 
everybody moved so briskly, and seemed so 
happy ! 

What ails Georgey now ? He has crossed the 
street, stopped short, and the bright color flushes 
his cheeks, till he looks quite beautiful. Ah ! he 
has spied a little apple-girl, seated upon the icy 
pavement. The wind is making merry with her 
thin rags, — her little toes peep, blue and be- 
numbed, from out her half-worn shoes, — and she 
is blowing on her stiffened fingers, vainly trying 
to keep them warm. 

Georgey looked down at his nice warm coat, 
and then at Kate's thin cotton gown. Georgey 
was never cold in his life, never hungry. His 
eyes fill — his little breast heaves. Then quickly 
untwisting the thick, warm scarf from his little 
throat, he throws it round her shivering form and 
says, with a glad smile, That will warm you ! — 
and bounds out of sight before she can thank him. 
Old Mr. Prince stands by, wiping his eyes, and 



says, " God bless the boy ! — that's worth a dozen 
sermons ! I'll send a load of wood to little Kate's 


Everybody called Rosalie a beauty. Everybody 
was right. Her cheeks looked like a ripe peach ; 
her hair waved over as fair a forehead as ever a 
zephyr kissed ; her eyes and mouth were as perfect 
as eyes and mouth could be : no violet was softer 
or bluer than the one, no rose-bud sweeter than 
the other. All colors became Rosalie, and what- 
ever she did was gracefully done. 

Yes ; everybody thought Rosalie was " a 
beauty." Rosalie thought so herself. So she 
took no pains to be good, or amiable, or obliging. 
She never cared about learning anything ; for, she 
said to herself, I can afford to have my own way ; 
I can afford to be a dunce if I like ; I shall be 
always sought and admired for my pretty face. 

So Rosalie dressed as tastefully as she and the 
dressmaker knew how ; and looked up to show her 
fine eyes, and down to show her long eye-lashes ; 
and held up her dress, and hopped over little ima- 
ginary puddles, to show her pretty feet; and 
smiled, to show her white teeth ; and danced, to 
show her fine form ; — and was as brilliant and as 
brainless as a butterfly. 

Now, I suppose you think that Rosalie was 
very happy. Not at all ! She was in a perfect 
fidget lest she should not get all the admiration 
she wanted. She was torturing herself all the 
while, for fear some prettier face would come along 
and eclipse hers. If she went to a party, and 
every person in the room but one admired her, she 
would fret herself sick, because that one didn't 
bow down and worship her. 

Never having studied or read anything, Rosalie 
could talk nothing but nonsense; so everybody 
who conversed with her talked nonsense too, and 
paid her silly compliments ; and-.made her believe 
that all she needed to make her quite an angel, 
was a pair of wings ; and then she would hold her 
pretty head on one side, and simper ; and they 
would go away laughing in their sleeves, and 
saying — " What a vain little fool Rosalie is ! " 

Now, Rosalie's cousin Hetty was as plain as a 
chesnut-bur. She had not a single pretty feature 
in her face. Nobody ever thought of calling Hetty 
a beauty, and she knew it ! She was used to be j 
overlooked ; but she didn't go about whining and 
making herself unhappy about it, — not she. She 
just put her mind on something else. She studied 
and read books, and learned a great many useful 
things. So she had a great deal in her mind to 
think of ; and went singing about, as happy as 
could be, without minding whether anybody 
noticed her or not. 

So she grew up sweet-tempered, amiable, 
generous, and happy. When she went into 
company, strangers would say, " What a plain 
littleb ody Hetty is !" If they could not find 
anybody else to talk to, they'd go speak to her. 
Then Hetty would look up at them with one of 
her quiet smiles, and commence talking. She 
would say a great many very sensible things, and 
some queer ones; and they would listen — and 
listen — and listen — and by-and-by look at their 
watch, and wonder what had made time fly so; 
and then go home, wondering to themselves 

how they could ever call such an agreeable girl as 
Hetty " homely." 

So, you see, everybody learned to love her, 
when they found out what a beautiful soul she 
had. And while Rosalie was pining and fretting 
herself sick, because her beauty was fading, and 
her admirers were dropping off, one by one, to 
flatter prettier faces, Hetty went quietly on her 
way, winning hearts, and — keeping them, too. 

All hail to Aunt Fanny and her little 
friends ; and may Fanny's pen never slumber! 
We want more such writers ; and in their 
absence we must do double duty. Fanny 
and ourself were born under one and the 
same planet. God bless her ! 

The Seasons of the Year. Nelson. 

This is a nice book for youth ; drawing 
their attention to things useful, and leading 
their minds up to the contemplation of what 
is daily going forward in our world. 

Let us select, as being appropriate to the 
season, an article bearing upon 

the repose of nature. 

The season of Winter is at once the close and 
the commencement of the year. Like the natural 
sleep of man, and the night which succeeds to the 
day, it includes the closing period of rest after 
labor, and the awakening dawn of refreshment 
after repose. It is the termination of the past, 
and the precursor of the future ; and is therefore 
happily regarded as a transition time for maturing 
strength, and planning fresh aggressions on the 
legitimate fields of human toil. It seems, indeed, 
to the heedless observer, as a lost time ; in which 
the rigorous season shuts up the husbandman 
from all the scenes of useful exertion, and compels 
the laborer to forego his industry. 

But it is not so. We have designated it the 
repose of nature, and like the natural repose of 
man, it is the invigorating season on which the 
successful results of all the other portions of the 
year depend for the fruits of active and wisely- 
employed labor. " He casteth forth his ice like 
morsels ; who can stand before his cold ? He 
sealeth up the hand of every man, that all men 
may know his work." The evidences of the 
power and goodness of the Creator are not, how- 
ever, the less apparent during the dreary and 
sterile reign of this, the closing season of the year. 
" The waters are hid as with a stone, and the 
face of the deep is frozen ;" but in this, the most 
remarkable chemical phenomenon of winter, some 
of the most important and beneficial laws of 
nature are manifested ; and on its influences de- 
pend, to a considerable extent, the successful 
labors of the husbandman in the Spring. 

Tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep, 

is not altogether a passive agent in the restoration 
of the worn-out laborer. While the body reposes, 
and the mind is chained in healthful inactivity, or 
dallies with some pleasing fancy in its dreams, 
the restorative physical operations are busily at 
work : the blood is circulating through the frame, 
the lungs are fulfilling their important vital 
functions, the digestive organs are busy in their 
appointed task, and the slumberer arises in the 
morning a new man. 



So, too, with nature, after its winter's sleep. 
The expansive power of water, when passing into 
the solid state of ice, is well known. Scarcely 
any limits can he set to its force. It has been 
found capable of bursting a cannon filled with 
water, and plugged up so as to leave it no other 
means of expansion. It rends and splits huge 
masses of rock, bringing down the giant fragments 
of the lofty mountain cliffs into the valley below ; 
and, in Arctic regions, frequently splitting^ ice- 
bound rocks with a noise like thunder. Precisely 
the same effect is produced on the smaller frag- 
ments of disintegrated rock and organic matter, 
which unite to form the soil from whence vegetable 
life draws its nourishment. The soil being satu- 
rated with moisture late in the autumn, is heaved 
up, and pulverised by the alternate expansion and 
contraction of frost and thaw, so as admirably to 
fit and prepare it for the reanimation of the whole 
vegetable kingdom in the spring. This, indeed, 
may be styled nature's ploughing. It is the pro- 
cess by which, over hill and valley, in wood, and 
glen, and copse, where no instrument of man is 
applied to aid or accelerate her operations, the 
soil is pulverised around the roots of the grass and 
herbage ; and of the countless thousands of plants 
and trees which clothe the uncultivated face of 
nature, and provide the needful stores for the 
flocks and herds, as well as for the multitudes of 
animal and insect life. But for this annual oper- 
ation of the frosts of winter, some of our best 
soils wou'd remain nearly unproductive. 

Stiff loams especially, composed for the most 
part of an unctuous clay, present in their natural 
state great obstacles to the labors of the agricul- 
turist, and would appear, indeed, to be totally 
incapable of being turned to any useful account. 
Their extreme tenacity impedes alike the absorp- 
tion and removal of excessive moisture during the 
continuance of rainy weather ; while the effect of 
a protracted drought is to make it so tough and 
indurated, that a plant might almost as soon force 
its tender roots into the pores of a sandstone rock, 
as into the bed of hardened clay. With such a 
however, the husbandman has only to enlist 


the keen winter's frosts into his service, to render 
it a valuable recipient of the tender seeds of spring. 
The plough is applied in the autumn, with a 
direct view to the peculiarities of the soil. It is 
ploughed up into furrows, so as to expose the 
largest surface both to moisture and frost ; and 
being then left to the operations of nature, the 
water is received into the soil, and as it is ex- 
panded in the process of freezing, it forces asunder 
the adhering particles of the clay — loosening, 
crumbling, and pulverising the whole, and render- 
ing it peculiarly fitted to receive the seed in spring. 
Nature may therefore be truly spoken of as re- 
freshing herself with sleep during the apparently 
inactive winter months. She is not dead. Vital 
functions of the most essential character are at 
work, producing results on which all the future 
depends, when the re-awakened vitality of the 
animal and vegetable kingdoms shall be again in 

The wisdom and power of the Creator are no 
less remarkably apparent in the beneficial pro- 
perties with which frost and snow are endowed, 
for the protection of the soil and its included 
plants against excessive cold. Few operations of , 

nature are more remarkable than this. The ice 
binds up the soil in its iron grasp ; and, being a 
slow conductor of heat, the frost is thereby pre- 
vented from extending far beneath the surface, so 
as to injure the tender fibres and roots of plants. 
Even when it does reach and envelop them, this 
counteracting influence still predominates, and 
holds the winter's frosts in check, preventing the 
temperature of the soil from falling below the 
freezing point. 

But still further beneficial contrivances become 
apparent in other operations of the winter's frost. 
Its influence extends to the air, as well as to the 
earth and water, and affects the exhaled moisture 
floating in clouds above the earth. The rain 
drops are accordingly frozen, and precipitated to the 
ground in the form of snow. The woolly flakes of 
snow, when examined under the microscope, are 
crystallised in minute forms of extreme beauty, 
and wrought with the utmost regularity. 
The hail also assumes a regular crystallised form, 
but of a totally different kind from the down-like 
snow which falls noiselessly on the earth. The 
latter is manifestly designed to drop without injury 
on the naked boughs and tender plants exposed to 
the storms of winter ; and to cover the grass and 
herbs, and the young winter wheat, with its 
winged flakes, without hurting their most fragile 
shoots, or disturbing the exposed soil in its fall. 
The sudden hail of spring or summer dashes 
down occasionally in destructive masses, which 
injure, break, and destroy plants, and extensively 
damage the works of man ; but the snow-flake is 
twenty-four times lighter than water, and so drops 
on the face of nature like the downy coverlet 
spread by its mother over the cradle ef the sleeping 
babe. This also operates still more beneficially 
in preventing the injurious influences of the frost 
on the soil, and on its enclosed plants and seeds ; 
so that one of the first operations of the frost is 
thus to provide a defence agaist its own excess. 

The snow being a very imperfect conductor of 
heat, it does not readily descend below the 
freezing point ; and thus the soil beneath is under 
the softest guardianship when its white covering 
is spread abroad to protect the tender seeds and 
bulbs, and the fresh roots of the lately germinated 
autumn seeds. The simplest experiment suffices 
to prove this ; for if a portion of a field is swept 
bare of snow during a protracted frost, and after 
this is exposed for a time to the full influence 
of the cold, — it will be found that the frost has 
penetrated to a considerable depth, binding the 
whole in its iron grasp ; while another portion of 
the same field, which has remained covered by 
the snow, will remain totally unaffected by the 
frost an inch or two below the surface. The 
practical value of this will be still more apparent, 
if the experiment is tried during very rigorous 
cold on a field of autumn-sown wheat. The plants 
in the part exposed will be found blighted, and 
sometimes completely killed by the frost; while 
the remainder of the field has escaped the same 
noxious influence by means of its snowy covering. 

By means of the same remarkable non-conduct- 
ing property of snow, the natives of the Arctic 
regions are able to employ it as the material with 
which they construct their winter dwellings ; and 
thus enroofed only with the embedded masses of 
frozen moisture, and with their windows glazed 



with blocks of ice, they survive the inclement 
season, amid all the horrors of a Polar winter, and 
sleep comfortably, wrapped in their furs, on a bed 
constructed of the same material. Inured as he 
is to his icy climate, the Esquimaux enjoys a 
comfortable warmth beneath his dome of snow, 
and feels no envy of those who enjoy our temperate 
climates, or bask beneath the perpetual sunshine 
of southern latitudes. 

Thus do we find the balance of nature harmo- 
niously preserved amid the utmost diversity of 
changes, and no single law operating without its 
use. The long winter of the Polar regions is 
followed by a brief but most vigorous spring and 
summer. Within a week after the melting of the 
snows of Iceland, the fields are green ; and in 
less than a month most of the plants are at ma- 
turity ; so that where the sleep of nature is most 
prolonged, she is seen to awaken with a pro- 
portionate vigor, and to hasten the accomplish- 
ment of the processes of vegetation during the 
brief season of activity that remains. The same 
is frequently seen, though in a less degree, in our 
own milder climate. Occasionally a cold, pro- 
tracted spring, threatens to mar all the labors of 
the husbandman. The trees refrain from shooting 
forth their leaves, the cereal plants are arrested 
in their progress, and the season seems passing 
away without the development on which the 
realising of all its hopes depend. 

But on a change of weather, and the supervening 
of a very few days of warmth, the compensating 
powers of nature becoming immediately apparent, 
a sudden burst of vegetation takes place, as if 
nature, by one great effort, sought to make up for 
lost time, and a very brief period suffices to restore 
the hopes of the most despondent. In this, also, 
we cannot fail to recognise a remarkable pro- 
vision of the Creator ; for meeting the peculiarities 
of a variable climate, and securing the fulfilment 
of the Harvest Covenant : 

He marks the bounds which winter may not pass, 
And blunts his pointed fury ; in its case, 
Russet and rude, folds up the tender germ 
Uninjured, with inimitable art ; 
And, ere one flowery season fades and dies, 
Designs the blooming wonders of the next. 

Are we not all longing for this sudden 
burst of vegetation ? And oh, how we will 
enjoy its unfolding beauties ! 

A Brage-Beaker with the Swedes. By 
W. Blanchard Jerrold. Nathaniel 

^-The author of this book has' been to 
Sweden and back ; and he has recorded pro 
bono the result of his journey, which forms a 
neat volume of some 250 pages. 

The second title of the book is "Notes 
from the North, in 1852." This gives a 
better idea of it than the first. Those who 
are fond of lively gossip, and to hear pleasant 
travelling companions tell of their remarkable 
adventures, &c, will be amused by a perusal 
of Mr. Jerrold's pages ; nor will they fail to 
laugh heartily at some of his illustrative 
sketches — for instance, the one at page 52, 

representing the author "packed up," ready 
for travelling. It reminds us of old Martha 
Gunn, who, some forty years agone, used, to 
bob our juvenile head and little body under 
the waves at Brighton, — herself waiting for 
us, open-mouthed (we shall never forget her 
hug), behind the wooden wheel of that huge 

To give an idea of the author's style, we 
subjoin his description of the " packing up " 
ceremony, — also a hint or two as to the 
delights of travelling in Sweden :— 

When travelling in Sweden, 1 found the pack- 
ing of luggage a secondary matter to the packing 
of myself. The weather was not cold on the night 
we left Helsingborg, and I felt a kind of vague 
disappointment, having screwed up my courage to 
endure a frightful number of degrees below 
freezing-point. Yet the Captain warned me not 
to forsake my furs, and to pack myself up for 
regular Swedish weather. I began and ended 
thus. First, I gave myself a substantial breast- 
work of flannel ; secondly, I hugged myself in a 
thick pilot waistcoat, which I buttoned up to my 
throat; thirdly, I drew on a thick pilot coat: 
fourthly, I turned about my neck a woollen scarf; 
fifthly, I drew on a second coat, as thick as any 
double blanket; sixthly, I pulled on close over 
my head a thick cap ; seventhly, I sat down while 
a sympathising bystander hauled on a pair of 
snow-boots lined with fur; eighthly, my huge fur 
frock, which reached to my heels, was thrown over 
me, and my arms drawn into the sleeves. Thus 
bandaged, I made my way by slow degrees into 
the carriage waiting at the hotel doors, that dark 
and stormy night, to take us on our way north. 

My companions followed me in a similar de- 
scription of packing. How we wedged ourselves 
into that carriage, with two or three carpet-bags, 
and other luggage that could not be stowed out- 
side ; how Poppyhead's india-rubber leggings 
turned up every ten minutes, to the discomfort of 
one of us ; how we requested one another to move 
a leg, or remove that arm from those ribs ; how we 
deplored our fate as the carriage rolled and tumbled 
over horrible roads on that dark night, — are 
matters of detail which I will pass over lightly, 
though they did not pass lightly over me. But 
one grievance I must insist upon inflicting on the 
reader. When we had got about two miles away 
from the town, we discovered that one of the front 
windows of the carriage was wanting, and that 
the rain was pouring in upon my devoted back. 
An explanation with the driver drew from him the 
cool reply that the window was broken ; but that 
we need not mind it, it would let in the air. This 
impertinent observation roused even Poppyhead 
from an incipient doze to make an indignant 
remark. But the matter could not be mended on 
the high road ; so we went forward, and the rain 
played its worst upon my well-covered back. The 
carriage was so small, that it was impossible for 
all of us to stretch out our legs at once. This in- 
convenience led to a solemn convention, which 
bound each of us to take his turn of the convenient 
posture, and to yield it up at a proper time. We 
occupied two hours of that dreary night arranging 
and re-arranging the luggage, which kept 
tumbling about the vehicle ; at the end of which 



time we arrived at the first posting station. The 
house was closed ; not a light was to be seen ; 
the rain was pouring down heavily. Our sturdy 
coachman bayed at the door, and presently roused 
the postmaster, who growled and went to the 

After waiting about three-quarters of an hour, 
we were favored with two inelegant specimens 
of horseflesh, and a second postboy, and went 
tumbling and rolling on our weary way once more. 
Every half-hour we condoled with one another on 
the prospect of forty-eight hours in this cramped 
vehicle, on these terrible roads. Whether the 
country, during the first two stages of our pro- 
gress, was fine or tame, I cannot say, — a wall of 
impenetrable darkness was all I saw beyond a 
yard or two from the carriage windows. We ar- 
rived at the second station about five in the 
morning; this was Engelholm, a Swedish seaport, 
situate in a bay of the Cattegat, chiefly noticeable, 
I believe, for the obstinate defence it made to the 
Danes in 1673. I believe also that it was chiefly 
noticeable on this occasion to us as affording a 
station, a rude wood-house, where we could unpack 
ourselves for a short time, and ascertain that we 
continued to possess legs and arms. Here our 
coachman intimated that we had better remain 
till the dawn of day. This proposal did not at all 
meet our views ; and the Captain, in energetic if 
not in elegant Swedish, intimated that we were 
determined to proceed directly the horses had ar- 
rived. Here I learnt my two first Swedish words — 
Hastaer Straxl* These syllables have been im- 
pressed upon my memory by the voice of the 
Captain, in the depths of dark winter nights ! At 
every station these words were shouted vehe- 
mently from our carriage window ; in widely sepa- 
rate parts of the Scandinavian peninsula, I have 
awoke to these euphonious syllables on many a 
night. I have aroused others with them myself. 
I have a theory' that with these two words any 
foreigner may, without inconvenience, travel even 
from Stockholm to Malmo. 

There is a vast amount of useful infor- 
mation scattered over the work ; and it will 
hardly fail to become popular. 

Illustrations of Scripture from Botan- 
ical Science. By David Gorrie. Pp. 
160. Blackwood and Sons. 

The author of this book has evidently the 
welfare of society deeply at heart, and he 
labors kindly to win them to his views by 
gentle argument. 

His avowed purpose is, to bring together 
some of those illustrations of Scripture 
emblems which Botanical Science is fitted to 
afford, — thus forming, he says, a small contri- 
bution towards the elucidation of a subject 
which has already occupied the attention ot 
many writers and commentators ; but which, 
being in a manner inexhaustible, still affords 
room for fresh remark. 

The book is both curious and valuable ; 
and will be read with much delight by 

* Horses directly ! 

Christians of all denominations — for, on the 
matters herein discussed, there ought not to 
be two opinions. The author concludes 
thus : — 

The study of plants belongs to the most interest- 
ing department of the Natural Sciences. And 
the remarks I have offered, brief and imperfect 
though they be, may yet serve to illustrate and 
enforce the truth, long neglected and still not 
rightly prized, that a rich mine of knowledge 
(and it may be of Christian edification) awaits 
those who may set themselves to study Scriptural 
allusions to the vegetable kingdom, in the light 
derived from experience of the habits of plants 
and from the researches of botanists. The instruc- 
tion to be derived from this delightful study can 
never be despised by any, who seek an increase 
of knowledge and love at the Fountain from 
whence both proceed. 

A number of beautiful illustrative engrav- 
ings of trees, plants, and flowers, adorn the 
volume ; and its external garb is every way 
in keeping with its internal excellencies. 

The New Quarterly Review. No. IX. 
Hookham and Sons. 

This honest servant of the public, despite 
the hostilities shown towards it by " certain 
houses," yet flourishes nobly. The number 
for the New Year is even more vigorous than 
ever ; and this is saying all we could say in 
its favor. It is a true record of the doings 
in the literary world, at home and abroad, 
during the past quarter ; and will be found 
a very useful and interesting guide to those 
whose time is too fully occupied to admit of 
extensive reading at the Libraries, &c. 

The article on " Authors and Publishers " 
will be universally read. It throws a very 
bright light on " a very dark subject." The 
great " Book Merchants," as they are now 
called, are said to be " mad." What sane 
person can doubt it? One of the largest 
has already stopped payment ; and his " con- 
fessions " should cause " the hair on every 
honest man's head to stand on end." 

We are indeed going a-head at a fearful 
r.ite. And who pays for it at last ? — the 
Public ! 


The Museum of Science and Art. 
I. Walton and Maberly. 

Popular Science is now beginning to get 
into fashion, and people are becoming 
ashamed to plead ignorant of what they 
ought to have known years ago. However, 
it is never too late to learn ; and we are right 
glad to see this move in a right direction. 

The Veteran, Dr. Lardner, is the editor 
of the work ; and he opens with a very 
popular subject, — viz. "The Planets; Are 
they habitable worlds?" The inquiry is a 
most interesting one, and is very skilfully 



The introduction to the general question 
is worthy a careful perusal ; and,; we feel 
sure that none who read it will fail to pursue 
it to the end. 


When we walk abroad on a clear starlight night, 
and direct our view to the aspect of the Heavens, 
there are certain reflections which will present 
themselves to every meditative mind. Are those 
shining orbs, which in such countless numbers 
decorate the firmament, peopled with creatures 
endowed like ourselves with reason to discover, 
with sense to love, and with imagination to expand 
to their boundless perfection the attributes of Him 
of " whose fingers the Heavens are the work ? " 
Has He who " made man lower than the angels 
to crown him" with the glory of discovering that 
light in which He has " decked himself as with a 
garment," also made other creatures with like 
powers and like destinies, with dominion over the 
works of His hands, and having all things put in 
subjection under their feet ? And are those 
resplendent globes which roll in silent majesty 
through ~the ^measureless abysses of space, the 
dwellings of such beings ? These are inquiries, 
against which neither the urgency of business nor 
the allurements of pleasure can block up the 
avenues of the mind. 

Those whose information on topics of this nature 
is most superficial, would be prompted to look 
immediately for direct evidence on these questions ; 
and consequently to appeal to the telescope. Such 
an appeal would, however, be fruitless. Vast as 
are the powers of that instrument, it still falls 
infinitely short of the ability to give direct 
evidence on such inquiries. What will a telescope 
do for us in the examination of any of the Heavenly 
bodies, or indeed of any distant object ? It will 
accomplish this, and nothing more; it will enable us 
to behold it as we should see it at a lesser distance. 
But, strictly speaking, it cannot accomplish even 
this : for to suppose it did, would be to ascribe to 
it all the admirable optical perfection of the eye ; 
for that instrument, however nearly it approaches 
the organ of vision, is still deficient in some of the 
qualities which have been conferred upon the eye 
by its Maker. 

Let us, however, assume that we resort to the 
use of a telescope having such a magnifying 
power, for example, as a thousand : what would 
such an instrument do for us ? It would in fact 
place us a thousand times nearer to the object that 
we are desirous to examine, and thus enable us to 
see it as we should at that diminished distance 
without a telescope. Such is the extent of the 
aid which we should derive from the instrument. 
Now, let us see what this aid would effect. Take, 
for example, the case of the moon, the nearest 
body in the universe to the earth. The distance 
of that object is about 240,000 miles ; the telescope 
would then place us at 240 miles from it. Could 
we at the distance of 240 miles distinctly, or even 
indistinctly, see a man, a horse, an elephant, or 
any other natural object ? Could we discern any 
artificial structure ? Assuredly not ! But take the 
case of one of the planets. When Mars is nearest 
to the earth, its distance is about 50,000,000 of 
miles. Such a telescope would place us at a dis- 
tance of 50,000 miles from it. What object could 

we expect to see at 50,000 miles' distance ? The 
planet Venus, when nearest the earth, is at a dis- 
tance something less than 30,000,000 of miles, 
but at that distance her dark hemisphere is turned 
towards us ; and when a considerable portion of 
her enlightened hemisphere is visible, her distance 
is not less than that of Mars. All the other 
planets, when nearest to the earth, are at much 
greater distances. As the stars lie infinitely 
more remote than the most remote planet, it is 
needless here to add anything respecting them. 

It is plain, that the telescope cannot afford 
any direct evidence on the question whether the 
planets, like the earth, are inhabited globes. Yet, 
although science has not given direct answers to 
these questions, it has supplied a body of circum- 
stantial evidence bearing upon them of an ex- 
tremely interesting nature. Modern discovery has 
collected together amass of facts connected with the 
position and motions, the physical character and 
conditions, and the parts played in the solar 
system by the several globes of which that system 
is composed, which forms "a body of analogies 
bearing on this inquiry, even more cogent and 
convincing than the proofs on the strength of 
which we daily dispose of the property and lives 
of our fellow-citizens, and hazard our own. 

We shall first consider this interesting question 
so far as relates to the group of planets, which, 
from several striking analogies which they bear 
to our own, have been called the terrestrial planets. 
These planets — in number three, and by name 
Mercury, Venus, and Mars — revolve with the earth 
around the sun, at distances from that luminary 
less in a great proportion than the other members 
of the solar system. We shall next extend the 
same inquiries to the other bodies composing that 
system, as well as to those which are distributed 
through the more distant regions of the universe. 

In considering the earth as a dwelling-place 
suited to man and to the creatures which it has 
pleased his Maker to place in subjection to him, 
there is a mutual fitness and adaptation observable 
among a multitude of arrangements which cannot 
be traced to, and which indeed obviously cannot 
arise from, any general mechanical law by which 
the motions and changes of mere material masses 
are governed. It is in these conveniences and 
luxuries with which our dwelling has been so con- 
siderately furnished, that we see the beneficent 
intentions of its Creator more immediately mani- 
fested, than by any great physical or mechanical 
laws, however imposing or important. If — 
having a due knowledge of our natural necessities 
— of our appetites and passions — of our suscep- 
tibilities of pleasure and pain — in fine, of our 
physical organisation — we were for the first time 
introduced to this glorious earth, with its balmy 
atmosphere — its pure and translucent waters — the 
life and beauty of its animal and vegetable king- 
doms — with its attraction upon the matter of our 
own bodies just sufficient to give them the requisite 
stability, and yet not so great as to deprive them 
of the power of free and rapid motion — with its 
intervals of light and darkness — giving an alter- 
nation of labor and rest nicely corresponding with 
our muscular powers — with its grateful succession 
of seasons, and its moderate variations of tempera- 
ture, so justly suited to our organisation ; with all 
this fitness before us, could we hesitate to infer 



that such a place must have been provided 
expressly for our habitation ? 

If, then, the discoveries of science disclose to us 
in each planet, which, like our own, rolls in regu- 
lated periods round the sun, provisions in all 
respects similar — if they are proved to be similarly 
built, ventilated, warmed, illuminated, and fur- 
nished — supplied with the same alternations of 
light and darkness, by the same expedient — with 
the same pleasant succession of seasons— the same 
diversity of climates — the same agreeable distri- 
bution of land and water — can we doubt that such 
structures have been provided as the abodes of 
beings in all respects resembling ourselves ? The 
strong presumption raised by such analogies is 
converted into a moral certainty, when it is shown 
from arguments of irresistible force that such 
bodies are the creation of the same Hand that 
raised the round world and launched it into space. 
Such, then, is the nature of the evidence which 
science offers on this interesting question. * * 

We must terminate our notice with a 
popular description of 


The atmosphere which surrounds the earth is 
an appendage which has an obvious and important 
relation to the animal and vegetable kingdoms. 
That respiratory beings depend on it for the main- 
tenance of their vitality, is obvious. The mechan- 
ical and chemical function of the breathing organs 
is expressly adapted to it. Its relation to vegetable 
life is not less important. 

But besides these qualities, without which life 
would become extinct on the surface of the globe, 
the atmosphere administers to our convenience and 
pleasures in other ways. It is the medium by 
which sound is transmitted; and as the apparatus of 
the lungs is adapted to operate chemically upon it, 
so as to impart to the blood the principle by which 
that fluid sustains life, so the exquisite mechanism 
of the ear is constituted to receive the effects of 
its pulsations and convey them to the sensorium 
to produce the perception of sound. Again, the 
mechanism of the organs of voice is adapted to 
impress on the atmosphere those pulsations, and 
thereby to convey its intonations to the corres- 
pondingly susceptible organisation of the ear. 
Without the atmosphere, therefore, even supposing 
we could live in its absence, however perfect might 
be our organs of speech and hearing, we should 
possess them in vain. Voice we might have, but 
no word could we utter; listeners we might be, 
but no sound could we hear ; endowed with the 
full powers of hearing and speaking, we should 
nevertheless be deaf and dumb. 

Another important manner in which the atmos- 
phere administers to our convenience is by diffusing 
in an agreeable manner the solar light, and miti- 
gating its intensity. In this respect, the atmos- 
phere may be considered as performing, in regard 
to the sun, what the imperfect transparency of a 
ground-glass shade performs for the glare of the 
lamp. In the absence of an atmosphere, the light 
of the sun would only illuminate objects on which 
its direct rays would fall ; we should have no other 
degrees of light but the glare of intense sunshine, 
or the most impenetrable darkness. Shade, there 
would be none ; the apartment whose casement 
did not face the sun, at the mid-day would be as 

at midnight. The presence of a mass of air ex- 
tending from the surface of the earth upwards to a 
height of more than forty miles, becomes strongly 
illuminated by the sun. This air reflects the solar 
light on every object exposed to it ; and as it 
spreads over every part of the earth's surface, it 
conveys with it the reflected, but greatly mitigated 
light of the sun. 

When the evening sun withdraws its light, the 
atmosphere, continuing to be illuminated by its 
beams, supplies the gradual declining twilight, 
which terminates in the shade of night. Before 
it rises, in like manner, the atmosphere is the 
herald of its coming, and prepares us for its splen- 
dor by the grey dawn and increasing intensity of 
morning twilight. In the absence of an atmos- 
phere, the moment of sunset would be marked 
by an abrupt and instantaneous transition from 
the blaze of solar light to the most impenetrable 
darkness ; and, for the same reason, the morning 
would be characterised by an equally abrupt change 
from absolute darkness to broad, unmitigated sun- 

Buds and Blossoms. A Collection: of 
Pretty Story Books. R. Groombridge 
and Sons. 

Under this modest title, we have three 
distinct packets of popular little books (six 
in each packet) ; all admirably adapted for 
distribution amongst young people. 

The tales and stories are of moderate 
length, are very nicely written, and have a 
pleasing moral attached to them, — each 
packet being complete in itself, and encased 
in a very pretty envelope. When we say 
that the cost of each collection of six books 
is — sixpence, we exhaust all the rhetoric left 

Now is the time to be generous, and to do 
good on an extensive scale. A complete 
juvenile library may be had for eighteen- 
pence ! What child would be a dunce ? 

Beauty and the Beast. An Entertain- 
ment for Young People. By Miss 
Corner. Dean and Son. 

This is the first of a series of " Little Plays 
for Little Actors,"— Miss Julia Corner 
playing the part of dramatic manager. Let 
us hear what she says in her programme : — 

I am convinced, from experience as well as 
reflection, that the performances I advocate are 
calculated to do good rather than harm. Children 
want to be amused; and I believe that amuse- 
ment is beneficial to them, provided it has no 
bad tendency. I also believe that a very impor- 
tant part of education consists in promoting inno- 
cent and agreeable occupation for leisure hours, 
in order to prevent any disposition to indolence, 
either of mind or body. With these views and 
opinions, I offer my little plays as a pastime for 
the approaching holidays; and I sincerely hope 
they may prove the means of furnishing enter- 
tainment for many of my young friends in the 
long evenings. 

Excellently well spoken, fair Julia; and 



our boys and girls will applaud you to the 
echo, — for nobly have you " performed " 
what is printed in your play- bill. We like 
the idea much, and feel sure the plan will 
become generally popular. We will set it 
going, everywhere.* 

All the world knows the story of " Beauty 
and the Beast." It is here admirably dra- 
matised ; and to give it additional charms, 
the principal scenes and characters are repre- 
sented in tableaux by Alfred Crowquill. 
Entering cordially into the spirit of this 
" little play," he has infused into it a fund 
of rich humor ; and we hope that he and the 
fair dramatic manager will go on right mer- 
rily, until they shall have exhausted all our 
much-loved fairy tales. They " play up " 
to each other delightfully. 

The book, we should add, is elegantly 
printed ; and, in every sense of the word, 
" well got up." We have not done yet. It 
is to be had for — one shilling ! 

Flowers from the Garden of Know- 
ledge. Nathaniel Cooke. 

Of this series of juvenile books we have 
already spoken in terms of the highest 
praise. This (forming No. 2) is entitled 
" The Days, Months, and Seasons of the 
Year," which the author, Maria Jacob, 
explains to "the Little People of England." 
And well does she explain them. 

Like its predecessor, " Prince Arthur's 
Alphabet," it is profusely illustrated ; and in 
addition to its emblematical devices on the 
" Seasons," it presents us with a series of 
noble delineations of the signs of the 

This book, too, is sold for one shilling. 
Had it emanated from any other establish- 
ment, it would have been at least two 
shillings and sixpence. Oh, how very 
thankful you children ought to be ! 

The Midland Florist, and Suburban 
Horticulturist, January. Simpkin, 
Marshall, and Co. 

We take shame to ourself for not having 
earlier noticed this amiable and useful little 
periodical, — a ccpy of which is frequently 
sent to us, and from which we have from 
time to time gleaned much profitable know- 

The Editor,— John Frederic Wood, of 
" the Coppice," near Nottingham, thoroughly 
understands the duties connected with a 
publication of this kind. No man better. 
Accordingly, we find amusement, instruction, 

and popular science nicely blended ; so that 
all who love flowers, gardens, and nature 
generally, may here enjoy an agreeable 
monthly treat. As the price is merely 
nominal (three pence), the work, we are 
happy to learn, has a wide circulation. It 
deserves it. 

December. W. 

* We were about to say we would ourself " act" 
the principal character, — but the idea of making 
a "Beast" of oneself requires some consideration. 
Let us first look out for a " Beauty" whom we can 
love ; and then — nous verrons. — Ed. K. J. 

The Leisure Hour. 

We are are glad to note the great improve- 
ment in this Miscellany ; and to find many 
articles in it that lead the inquiring mind in 
a right direction. The Cheap Press, gene- 
rally, has much to answer for ; inasmuch as it 
poisons the thoughts of the rising generation ; 
so that, when we find an exception, we are 
delighted to record it. 

The fairest specimen we can select, will 
be the notes of a Correspondent ; who thus 
describes his visit to the Zoological Gardens, 
where he saw 


an animal brought from the interior of Brazil, and 
said to be the only one that was ever imported 
alive into Europe. Scarcely, says he, had the 
new comer to the Zoological Gardens been safely 
housed, and regularly installed as a member of 
the incorporated society of the animal kingdom 
assembled there, than we felt ourselves bound to 
pay homage to the illustrious stranger, and take 
our stand before it with a salaam. The animal 
held its court in an apartment adjoining that 
wherein a juvenile chimpanzee, the captive scion 
of a powerful sept or clan on the banks of the 
Quorra, holds his daily levee. As we entered, 
our olfactory nerves at once apprised us that the 
great Brazilian was by no means perfumed with 
attar of roses. If the truth is to be told, the odor 
which saluted our nostrils was overpoweringly 
offensive ; requiring a profusion of eau de Cologne 
in order to render it a little less intolerable. There 
was a crowd of spectators, and continual use was 
made among them of handkerchiefs, scented or 
unscented. For ourselves, we were ready to 
exclaim, in the words put by a great genius into 
the mouth of one of his characters, " An ounce of 
civet, good apothecary ! " This odor was that of 
the natural cutaneous exudation of the animal. 

On a bed of clean straw, in one corner of the 
apartment, lay the destroyer of ants, taking its 
mid-day_ siesta. Its appearance was indistinct, 
but reminded us of a large grey or grizzled New- 
foundland dog, asleep in his kennel. On a closer 
scrutiny, the body seemed to be covered by a 
panache of long flowing hair; but this panache 
proceeded from the reverted tail, and was such as 
to form a good defence against the rays of the sun 
on the one hand, or the heavy shower on the 

After waiting with commendable patience for 
half-an hour, and observing no signs of restoration 
to a state of activity, we betook ourselves to the 
Aquatic Vivarium, which, to our great satis- 
faction, we found crowded with visitors, among 
whom exclamations of delight and astonishment 
were in constant repetition. There we passed a 



pleasant hour, made many notes, and revelled in 
the contemplation of ocean's animated wonders. 

At length we thought it best to return to the 
main object of our visit, hoping that the slumbers 
of the " mound-leveller " were passed away. But 
no, there the animal lay somnolent as before, and 
not a muscle moved. We began to get im- 
patient ; but plucked up good courage, and de- 
termined to wait even to the latest moment. Our 
resolution happily was soon rewarded. Leisurely, 
as if irresolute and scarcely thoroughly awake, up 
rose the stolid beast, the dread even of the ter- 
rible jaguar, and after sniffing the air — not with 
broad nostrils like the stag painted in the " Lady 
of the Lake," but through little orifices at the end 
of a long, slender, tapering snout, for such it at 
first appeared — it moved forwards into full view. 
Then it was that the contour and proportions of 
this stranger from the swampy forests of Brazil 
were revealed to our sight, and that a murmur of 
surprise greeted its appearance. And well it 
might be so, for strange and eccentric was its 
aspect; it was such as would have enchanted 
Fuseli. Let us, however, before entering into 
details, here record our first impressions. 

Before our eyes stalked forth, with heavy and 
deliberate steps, a creature of large size, taller or 
quite as tall as a very fine Newfoundland dog, but 
much longer in the proportion of the body to that 
of its height. Its covering was coarse, long, griz- 
zled hair ; a broad black stripe, narrowing as it 
proceeds, passed obliquely from the chest over 
each shoulder. The head, covered with close hair, 
looked in its tout ensemble, from the thick deep 
neck to its apex, like a long slender tube or pro- 
boscis, in strange contrast with the stupendous 
massiveness of the limbs. The eyes were small; 
the ears, in a direct line and about one inch above 
them, were very close and rather rounded, but so 
little elevated, that their precise form was not im- 
mediately obvious. A mane of very long hair rose 
over the withers. The tail — how shall we de- 
scribe it ? No Newfoundland dog, no setter, no 
retriever, ever boasted of such a caudal append- 
age; no, not even the famous dog of Alcibiades. 
It was as long or longer than the whole body, and 
was evidently stout and robust in bone and 
muscle at the base. As the creature moved along, 
it was held in a line with the body, sometimes a 
little depressed, and at others a little elevated; 
but, even when raised, its panache (plume does 
not express the meaning) of densely-set, long, wiry 
hairs, from the base to the apex, swept the floor. 
The very weight of this alone, carried from the 
base to the extremity of the lever, evidently indi- 
cated the vast development of the lumbar and 
supra-caudal muscles. No light feathery plume 
was it ; but a massive, dropping, heavy fringe, 
capable of being thrown like a thatch over the 
body during repose. 

The fore feet of the animal were armed with 
enormous hooked claws ; but these, being doubled 
up close on the thick pad of the sole, were not at 
first visible ; so that the fore feet looked like mere 
stumps rather than like fully formed feet, as did 
those of the hinder limbs. The gait was heavy, 
but by no means slow or crawling ; indeed, the 
animal is said to be capable of moving along with 
considerable celerity. The whole contour exhi- 
bited an appearance of great massiveness and 

enormous muscular power, especially in the neck, 
chest, shoulders, and fore limbs ; while the claws 
were well fitted for grappling, wrenching, and for 
rending asunder the solid sun-baked mud walls of 
the pyramids of the termite. 

Such were the generalities which forced them- 
selves upon our notice. We will now proceed to 
a few details. Of the stature of the animal we 
have said enough. Let us begin with the head. 
The skull of this strange creature is modelled on 
the tubular principle. From the occiput (that is, 
the back portion of the frame-work of the head) 
runs out a long trumpet-like projection, composed 
of the bones of the cranium and the jaws. This 
long slender trumpet, or proboscis, incloses in its 
singular development all the organs of senses, even 
that of tact, or especial feeling ; for the nose, in 
this as in other instances, is the organ of {ac- 
tivity.* The eyes of the animal were small, on a 
line with the cranial projection, and, as it appeared 
to us, very inefficient by day-light. The iris, as 
we saw it, seemed very narrow, and of a dark 
hazel-brown, and the pupil minute ; but, when 
the shadows of evening descend over the wooded 
swamps of Brazil or Guiana, may not that pupil 
expand into a dark orb, bounded only by the 
little eyelids? Looking at the eyes with con- 
sideration, we registered them in our mind as 
organs formed for twilight or nocturnal vision. 
Little use, indeed, did the animal make of them 
when perambulating its apartments, as we shall 
soon demonstrate. 

Now for the organs of hearing. We have de- 
scribed their external figure and position, close 
above the little eyes ; but what shall we say of 
the animal's hearing power ? If sensibility to in- 
vocations loudly uttered could have awakened the 
sleeper through this medium, he must have re- 
sponded to the call. " Seven sleepers" are recorded 
in the works of the olden time ; surely this som- 
nolent Brazilian, taking its siesta, might be put 
down for the eighth : it slept as an athlete. When 
aroused, however, it seemed even then almost 
dead to sounds and exclamations; at least it 
noticed them not, and they passed by it as the 
idle wind. 

If sight was defective, and hearing obtuse, the 
contrary appeared to be the case with the sense of 
smell — a fact which indeed might be inferred even 
from a consideration of the extension of the olfac- 
tory organs, carried along the upper portion of the 
tubular head from the space between the ears to 
the two little narrow terminal slits which repre- 
sent the nostrils. Ever and anon the animal ele- 
vated its snout and sniffed the air, and when its 
keeper, a most careful and obliging man, brought 
in a pan of milk, it followed him about with a 
stumping, bear-like gait, evidently directed rather 
by the sense of smell than of vision to the vessel 
which he carried in his hand. Moreover, it evi- 
dently knew its attendant, and indicated, by pro- 
jecting its snout to him when he at first entered 
the apartment without anything in his hands, that 
the recognition chiefly depended upon the sense of 
smell. The animal allowed him to pat it, and 

* Tactivity means feeling, in contradistinction to 
simple sensitiveness. For example, our hands are en- 
dowed with tactivity ; our whole cutaneous surface with 



seemed pleased with his notice ; but it uttered no 
noise or cry so long as we stayed to observe it. 
This, however, proves nothing : it is said to utter, 
when pleased, a peculiar whine, and we have the 
highest authority for this fact. 

From the sense of smell to that of taste the 
transition is direct. Let it here be premised that 
the ant-eater has no teeth ; it is therefore strictly 
edentate, as naturalists term it. The jaw-bones 
are long, slender, and feeble. The mouth is a little 
aperture at the end of the snout, and merely fitted 
for the protrusion of a long, rapier-like, glutinous 
tongue from its sheath ; as the natural food of this 
animal consists principally of termite ants and 
their pupae — the latter more especially — this long 
viscous tongue is a most efficient instrument for 
such a purpose. For the crushing of such food 
teeth are not needed, as it is swallowed without 
mastication, and doubtless with a copious flow of 
saliva. But we have yet to describe the animal's 
tongue, as it presented itself to our personal obser- 
vation. We were contemplating the ant-eater, 
while it sat up on its haunches, like a great 
dog, with its long snout elevated ; suddenly 
from its mouth a thin, dark, purplish, glossy 
stream, like that of treacle, seemed to flow, cer- 
tainly to the extent of more than two feet. In 
this stream a slight vibration was perceptible, and 
then, as if its current suddenly retrograded, it 
glided upwards, and rolled back into its hidden 
fount. This stream was the tongue. Many times, 
both while the animal rested and while it traversed 
its apartment, was this exhibition repeated, and 
always with sufficient deliberation for the eye to 
follow out the whole movement. We are assured, 
however, that when employed in active service, a 
breach in the wall of an ants' mound having been 
effected, the movements of this organ are incal- 
culably rapid, which we can readily believe. 

As we have said, our Brazilian stranger followed 
the keeper, bearing in his hand a vessel of milk.* 
In a short time, having, at our especial desire, 
tested the olfactory sense of the animal, he indulged 
it with a good draught of the coveted beverage. 
We expected to see it lap the fluid up by some 
action of the tongue ; perchance, dog-like ; per- 
chance like that displayed when the organ is in- 
serted into the sinuosities of the termites' mounds. 

* In noticing the diet of the animal in question, we 
may observe that in its native wilds it is a destroyer of 
termites ; but our captive cannot here be entertained 
with such fare. As a substitute, it is furnished with a 
supply of raw eggs, the shells of which are of course 
removed. Of these it consumes about twenty-four daily ; 
in addition to a pint of new milk, it also drinks a little 
water. While we were listening to this statement, our 
eyes rested upon a dead rabbit, cut open and somewhat 
crushed, which lay on the floor of the apartment. We 
asked whether it was not killed and placed there by way 
of experiment. We found that it was so ; the ant-eater 
had more than once in our presence applied its tongue to 
this newly-killed animal, as if to taste the blood ; but 
beyond this, during the previous night, it had taken in 
—we can hardly say devoured— the greatest portion of 
the softer viscera. It refused any preparation of grain. 
Nevertheless, we learn from Dr. Schomburgk, that a 
farinaceous preparation, namely, of cassada, was much 
relished by individuals in confinement, in their native 
regions. Minced fresh beef and even fish were also 
acceptable, provided these viands were chopped up so 
finely as to be under the prehensile command of the 
little moveable upper lip. That our captive should be 
enabled to draw in and swallow the tender viscera of a 
young rabbit need not therefore surprise us. 

and is drawn back laden with the luscious food. 
Not so, however ; it simply applied its tiny mouth 
to the milk, and sucked it up gradually and quietly, 
with the least perceptible sound. Not more deli- 
cately does the horse sip its water from the trough, 
than did the ant-eater its milk from the pan. A 
thought crossed our mind at the time : how would 
the ant-eater manage with boiled marrow-bones of 
beef? would not the remarkable tongue be then 
displayed in full action ? For once, at least, the 
experiment might be worth a trial, if only for the 
sake of witnessing the action of this organ. 

It may seem at first surprising that an animal so 
bulky and massive as the ant-eater, can not only 
subsist, but keep up its muscular strength and 
condition, on such diet as that afforded by white 
ants, or termites. The same observation applies 
with even more force to the Greenland whale ; 
but, in each instance, we draw our deduction from 
erroneous premises : we do not take into account 
the extremely nutritious quality of the food, and 
the fact of its making up weight by the aggre- 
gation of a multitude of minute units, so as to 
counterbalance that of mass in solidity. Myriads 
upon myriads of tiny beings are daily devoured both 
by the whale and the ant-eater. Termite mounds 
characterise the haunts of the ant-eater, and we 
have described its structural fitness for demolish- 
ing these insect fastnesses. It makes short work 
in opening a breach, and then its tongue is brought 
into full play. Soon, however, the startled ter- 
mites, in order to escape the fate of the myriads 
which first fell a sacrifice, take refuge in the deeper 
and smaller galleries of the ruined edifice. But 
vain are their efforts ; their enemy tears off huge 
fragments of the galleried walls with his strenuous 
claws, holds them firm with his left paws, and lei- 
surely breaks them up with the right, the tongue in 
the meantime performing its office with celerity. 
When satiated, the ant-eater ceases the work of 
destruction. It would appear that a considerable 
quantity of the earthy materials of the ants' dome 
is swallowed along with the insects themselves, 
and Dr. Schomburgk supposes, perhaps correctly, 
that this material aids digestion. 

Furnished with its tail, which can be used as 
a penthouse, the ant-eater makes no nest or 
burrow, but curls itself up, and is thus sufficiently 
protected against the inclemency of the weather. 

Though generally deliberate in its movements, 
the ant-eater can push its pace into a peculiar 
trot, or long gallop, and is then not easily over- 
taken ; indeed, it will keep a horse on the canter 
for upwards of half an hour, and by no means 
tires readily itself. 

The female posseses two pectoral teats, and pro- 
duces only one young at a time, which soon clings 
firmly to her back, and thus attached, is carried 
about with her during her rambles. It remains 
under her care for the space of a year, and then 
shifts for itself. When pursued with her young 
one on her back, the mother seeks safety in flight, 
and holds on her course till fairly overtaken ; she 
has indeed been known to keep a horgg on the 
full canter for half an hour. When hard pressed 
she assumes a posture of defence, raises herself 
upon her haunches, and resting on one fore-paw, 
strikes with the claws of the other at her enemy, 
changing from the right to the left limb, and vice 
versa, as the latter alters his position of attack. 



The force of these blows is tremendous. Should 
the danger increase, she throws herself upon her 
back, and strikes with both claws at her enemy. 
To the last moment the young one clings to the 
mother. It is in this manner that she receives 
her fierce opponent, the jaguar. Those who had 
witnessed the fight, described it to Dr. Schom- 
burgk as being very characteristic. There is no 
yielding on the part of the ant-eater, and it fre- 
quently happens that both combatants remain 
dead upon the spot, or that one does not survive 
the other many hours. " The force," says Dr. 
Schomburgk, " of the ant-eater is astonishing, and 
I have no doubt that it is well able to rip up the 
belly of its assailant." He adds : " If the ant- 
eater should succeed in throwing its arms round 
its enemy, and fixing its claws in the flesh, 
nothing can disengage it from its embrace ; the 
muscles grow stiff, and, as I have been told, 
without being able to vouch for its veracity, in 
this situation both animals die." 

When young individuals are captured, they at 
first try to hide themselves, but, if approached, 
put themselves into a resolute posture of defence, 
growling at the same time like an irritated puppy. 
That the ant-eater is capable of climbing has been 
abundantly proved by Dr. Schomburgk, who wit- 
nessed this operation most adroitly performed both 
by young ones and adults, the fore limbs being 
used alternately, and one secured by means of the 
claws before the other is advanced. From witnes- 
sing the agility thus displayed, Dr. Schomburgk 
expresses his conviction that, should circum- 
stances require it, these animals would climb 
trees with the greatest readiness. Of the docility 
both of adults and young, in a short time after 
their capture, the following extracts from Dr. 
Schomburgk's paper, in the " Proceedings of the 
Zoological Society," relative to another specimen 
of the ant-eater which came under his notice, may 
not be uninteresting. 

" It appeared to be of a very cold nature ; not 
only the extremities, but the whole body felt cold 
to the touch, although we kept it wrapped up in a 
blanket. It preferred, however, to be nestled and 
to be taken up, and on putting it down it emitted 
a whining but not unpleasant sound ; when it did 
not succeed in attracting attention, and was not 
taken up again, the whining sound was raised to a 
harsh and grating noise. In following a person, 
it directed its course more by the smell than by 
sight, and carried its snout close to the ground. 
If it found itself at fault, it wheeled round at right 
angles upon the hind legs, and sniffed the air in 
all directions until it found the right scent again. 
Of the dimness of its sight we had^ various proofs; 
it hurt itself frequently against objects that stood 
in its way, not observing them till it came in con- 
tact with them. Its power of smelling was ex- 
quisite, and it could discover its nurse or any 
person to whom it had taken a liking, at a con- 
siderable distance. Upon these occasions it would 
commence the whining sound so peculiar to this 
animal. It was an expert climber. It happened 
that I was one of its favorites, and whilst writing 
on my table it used to come softly behind me, 
and as soon as it was sure it had found me out, it 
climbed up my legs with great dexterity. Out of 
amusement we frequently held up its blanket, and 
it climbed up its whole length. 

" When the Indian woman was not present, or 
otherwise occupied, and did not pet the young ant- 
eater, she used to throw some of the clothes she 
had worn, or her own blanket before it, in which it 
wrapped itself and was pacified. This effect could 
not be produced by any other person's clothes. It 
showed its attachment by licking, and was very 
gentle and even sportive ; we all prized it highly. 
It slept a great deal. We had it for nearly two 
months, and as it began to feed itself, we had 
great hopes of rearing it ; unfortunately we were 
unable to procure milk, and whether in conse- 
quence of the change of food, or some other cause, 
it gradually declined. I found it sometimes as 
cold as ice, and stiff; and, though I recovered it 
repeatedly, it died one day during my absence." 

Having so far detailed the results of our per- 
sonal observations relative to this extraordinary 
specimen (introduced into the Gardens of the 
Zoological Society at the cost of £200, through 
the exertions of the indefatigable secretary of the 
Institution), it is our duty to express our thanks 
to the chief superintendent of the Vivarium, for 
his kindness in affording the writer every facility 
for a leisurely survey of this singular creature, 
and for his compliance with our wishes in more 
than one instance. 



God hath a voice that ever is heard 
In the peal of the thunder, the chirp of the bird ; 
It comes in the torrent, all rapid and strong, 
In the streamlet's soft gush as it ripples along ; 
It breathes in the zephyr, just kissing the bloom ; 
It lives in the rush of the sweeping simoom ; 
Let the hurricane whistle, or warblers rejoice, 
What do they tell thee but God hath a voice ? 

God hath a presence, and that ye may see 
In the fold of the flower, the leaf of the tree; 
In the sun of the noonday, the star of the night ; 
In Ihe storm-cloud of darkness, the rainbow of 

In the waves of the ocean, the furrows of land ; 
In the mountain of granite, the atom of sand ; 
Turn where ye may, from the sky to the sod, 
Where can ye gaze that ye see not a God ? 


Come ! sing those tender words again, 

Sing them, I pray, with me ; 
'Tis sweet, though but in music's strain, 

To hear of love from thee. 
Thy watchful friends may stand around, 

Nor think of harm or wrong, 
While with a trembling gush of sound 

We breathe our faith in song. 

Oh ! when we meet in yonder grove, 

How do we think and start, 
Lest one should hear our murmur'd vows- 

Our language of the heart ! 
But now we dare the tale to tell 

Before a list'ning throng ; 
And safe in music's mighty spell 

Exchange our faith in song. 





Poor fall'n humanity! where'er is found 

Thy prostrate shrine, the place is hallowed ground. 

Though laid in ruins, till to thee belong 

Our honesr tears ; oh, who would do thee wrong ! 

Fresh from our hearts the pitying waters roll, 

And claim a kindred with each brother's soul. 


enjoy, should be, compara- 
tively speaking, so unappre- 
ciated ! The man who " never 
knew a day's illness in his 
life," marvels to hear people 
complaining of pain ; and can 
feel no sympathy for those who are subject to 
sickness, and the other ills of life which fall 
to the share of so many sufferers. It is only 
by comparison, that we can form any just 
idea of how happy we ought to be; and how 
thankful to the Creator of Heaven and 
earth, whose delight has ever been among 
the sons of men. 

On the 23rd of October, 1852 (see Our 
Journal, Vol. II., p. 257), we penned an 
article of some considerable length on " the 
Asylum, at Hanwell." We described all we 
had seen there, during a most interesting 
visit ; and we glanced at the various 
"causes" of aberration of mind, and lotal 
loss of reason ; nor did we fail to dwell on the 
exceeding kindness shown to these poor 
sufferers by those who had the care of them. 
The sights we saw — painlul as they were to 
a reflecting mind — yet made us thankful that 
such a noble establishment existed among us, 
to "alleviate" suffering that might not be 

We are not disposed to go into lengthened 
detail to day, upon the further consideration 
of Lunacy and Madness. We all know suffi- 
cient of their bearings, to make us shudder 
at the thought of our ever becoming subjects 
of their power. The " causes," however, 
may be profitably hinted at. They are, — 
jealousy, passion, fanaticism, undue mental 
excitement, methodism, a disposition to 
melancholy, over-study, false zeal, excess, and 
debauchery. An indulgence in ardent spirits, 
smoking, &c, &c, are of course the proximate 
causes of much, — perhaps most of the evils 
we deplore. These bad habits, we regret to 
say, still continue amongst us ; and the " con- 
sequences" become only too visible day by 

Colney Hatch, we hardly need remark, is 
the Middlesex County Lunatic Asylum-. At 
the present time, it numbers be ween 1,200, 
and 1,300 inmates ; of these, some 750 are 
females. The conduct of the establishment 
is precisely similar to that of Hanwell. 
Kindness is the talisman which performs all 

the wonders we behold. We say wonders, — 
for it really is wonderful to observe how 
easily the poor creatures are wrought upon 
by a kind smile, a gentle word, or the 
upraising of a ringer. 

Whether spoken to by the nurses, — or by 
the visiting magistrates, the effect produced 
on them is the same. An innate conscious- 
ness appears to exist that they are "at home," 
and well provided for; and so far as they can 
be " happy," they are so. 

A recent visit here, enables us to speak to 
a point as to the truth of our remarks. On the 
4th of January, a grand Christmas entertain- 
ment was given to the patients — in the 
spacious room, usually devoted, we believe, 
to exercise. The time of rendezvous was 
six, p. m., and a number of visitors were 
invited to join in the interesting festivities. 
We were among the guests ; and through 
the kindness of B. Armstrong, Esq. (one of 
the visiting Magistrates) we were enabled 
to take a friend with us. No sight could 
have delighted us more. No two people 
could have taken a more painfully-pleasing 
interest in the doings of that evening. We 
shall never forget the mise en scene ; for every 
thing was in good taste. All was provided 
that could please the eye ; and every thing 
was there that could minister to the comfort 
of " a mind diseased." 

No little ingenuity and skill had been 
shown in the decoration of the room. Wreaths 
of holly, and other evergreens, were inter- 
twined in graceful harmony all around the 
gallery ; on the pillars, and beneath the cor- 
nices. Festoons, too, were there ; tastily 
grouped and as tastily arranged. We saw 
also some Camellias and other choice flowers, 
claiming a right to be present in honor of 
that night. Then there were multitudes of 
variegated lamps of all hues, suspended in 
every direction (reminding us of the palmy 
days of Vauxhall) ; and handsome gas 
chandeliers, dispersing bright streams of light 
on all the magic scene around. This, and 
much more, — for every effort had been put 
forth to do the occasion ample justice. 

We were there some little time before the 
festivities commenced. The day was Wed- 
nesday, January 4th, — the ever memorable 
day, following the snow-storm of the pre- 
ceding night. Nothing daunted us. Had 
the rail not been cleared — fortunately it was 
— we should have walked; our heart lay that 
way, and the effort cost but little. Cold it 
was, very. The snow too was deep ; and 
the prospect without, desolate. Still we 
waded on through the opposing elements ; 
and tripped over the fleecy carpet, until we 
were fairly at the portals of Colney Hatch. 

Entering, — our nose led us into a little 
snugly-furnished corner room, nicely 
"warmed " with the tangible productions of 

Vol. V.— 3. 



England and O-port-o ! The eye was caught, 
the palate tickled. We marvelled if all 
were "right," — very much doubting it. 
Nor were our doubts unconfirmed. That 
room was not the visitors' room. A " cold 
shoulder " apprised us of that fact ; and we, 
with sundry other doubters, travelled on- 
wards to ruminate in the patients' room, 
before described. 

We have already said we were somewhat 
early in our arrival. This gave us time to 
look around us ; and to examine the pre- 
parations for the coming games. Three 
glorious fires were there — two at one end 
of the room ; throwing a cheerful blaze on 
the guests assembled to share the grateful 
heat. Walking leisurely about, we duly 
arrived at the two large, and handsomely de- 
corated Christmas-trees, — which reared their 
heads high in air, as if conscious of their 
attractions. We will venture to say they 
had never before yielded such an infinite 
variety of fruit. 

Then we came to the three stupendous 
Twelfth- cakes, whose girth we should be 
afraid to state ; and whose united weight a 
horse might be able to estimate. They 
were raised on pedestals, and elevated some 
two feet above the ground. And what a 
profusion of droll figures danced away on 
their summits ! And what an expanse of 
sugar there was for them to dance upon ! 
Then there was a pianoforte, and — but hark ! 
it is striking six. W r hat numbers of men 
there are coming in on the left ; and look at 
the crowd of women on the right, — all pro- 
ceeding to occupy the benches placed for 
them on either side of the room. And see 
— they are all seated ; and smiling in anti- 
cipation of a merry evening. There are 
some smart nurses too in attendance on the 
women; and they also look " jolly." 

The seats [all occupied, the lights are 
partially extinguished ; andlo ! on a sheet be- 
hind the twelfth-cakes, we recognise a sweet 
moonlight view of " Kircudbright Abbe} T ," 
ushered in by a song, — "Lovely Night," 
from Miss Anne Cox. This fairly fascinated 
all the patients ; who applauded vociferously 
not only it, but the entire series of Dis- 
solving Views which followed. 

It was now that our sympathies became 
fully enlisted. There was light sufficient 
for us to scrutinise, closely, the various 
countenances by which we were surrounded 
—on the right and on the left. What a sight 
lay before us ! There sat several hundred 
fellow-creatures, — mere wrecks of humanity, 
amused, — positively amused, and happy for 
the time, whilst memory faintly summoned 
up a remembrance of the past. Oh, the 
many sighs we heard, as the band played 
" Auld lang Syne," " Beautiful Rhine," " Ye 
Banks and Braes," "Kate Kearney," &c. ! 

It was impossible to withhold the tribute of 
a tear, more than once ; nor did we wish it. 
If ever we philosophised, we did so now. 
If ever we were thankful for the gift of 
reason, in its fullest enjoyment, it was now. 
Only by contrasts like these, can we form 
any just estimate of the goodness of God to 
the children of men.* 

We pass over the conversation we held 
with a number of these poor creatures during 
the evening. It was interesting to us for a 
variety of reasons ; seeing that it gave us a 
deep insight into human nature, and fully 
confirmed certain opinions we had formed 
respecting the maladies under which these 
poor patients were suffering. We had it 
from their own mouths (honestly spoken) 
that they were happy ; well cared for, and 
well fed. " See ! " said one remarkably fine 
woman. " am I not fat ? They do feed us up 
here, just-a-bit." And such no doubt is 
the fact. During the evening, we saw 
Henry Pownall, Esq., one of the magis- 
trates, kindly extending his hand towards 
several of the patients. They took it gently 
and kissed it, — blessing its owner. Sensible 
are they of the sympathy shown them, and 
alive to any little offering of friendship. 

We must not dwell longer on these scenes. 
The cakes were in due course cut up, — or 
rather sliced up, as if by magic. Divided 
and subdivided, they were sent in wedges all 
over the room ; and set all the patients in 
ecstacies. Generous were they too, very. 
We came away with many a sample of cake. 
Then the band struck up, followed by the 
merry dance ; and the whole room was a 
mighty mass of moving humanity. How 
they did all enjoy it ! It was indeed 

" Tripping it on the light fantastic toe ! " 

Men and women, boys and girls, nurses 
and attendants — all commingled. It was a 
most interesting sight ; and the recollection 
of those festivities will no doubt linger long 
in the memory (even though imperfect) of the 
patients who took so leading a part in them. 

As regards ourself, and our amiable com- 
panion, — we were so overjoyed with what we 
saw, that we talked of nothing else all the 
way home. Rough vras the road ; and long 
the distance for us to go on foot (for no 
vehicles of any kind could be induced to 

* After the "Dissolving Views" (the effect 
produced by which was very remarkable), came 
the " Chromatrope." It is impossible to describe 
the excitement which this caused among the 
patients. Its colors and changes — following^ in 
rapid succession, and apparently endless, fairly 
set them dancing, shouting, leaping, jumping. 
And when the hand struck up " God save the 
Queen," and all the voices tried to become " one," 
the picture may he imagined — not painted. What 
a scene ! We shall never forget it. — Ed. K J. 



travel towards Hammersmith). However, 
little cared we for that. 

Arrived at the " Black Lion," Bayswater, 
we began to think of that " little snug 
room" at Colney Hatch (before referred to) ; 
and in we went, to drown the remembrance. 

A few minutes' rest, and we were again 
on our way, — our friend deploying shortly 
afterwards towards his household-gods at 
Kensington ; and we marching direct to our 
haven of rest at — Hammersmith. 

*** The number of patients admitted was 650. 
These, and the addition of many visitors, caused 
the room to be well filled. During the evening, 
there was an alarm of fire raised ; but all was 
quickly subdued, and the patients kept quiet 
without any undue interruption to the evening's 



Let Winter come . . . 
Yet shall the smile of social love repay 
With mental light, the melancholy day. 
And when its short and sullen noon is o'er, 
The ice-chain' d waters slumb'ring on the shore, 
How bright the faggots in the little hall 
Blaze on the hearth,— and warm the pictur'd wall I 

■ Campbell. 

Thus, Time's first ages pass'd away, — 

Its feeble light and mental gloom, 
Joyful we hail the brighter day, 
When Heaven shall shine, and Earth shall bloom. 

The departed month of January has left 
behind it unusual, — momentous proofs of its 
presence amongst us. Our newspapers have 
recorded, at fearful length, what has trans- 
pired during the month, in the way of storms, 
wind,— tempest ; nor have the thousands of 
lives lost at sea, destroyed on our railways, 
&c, failed to be duly chronicled. We have 
sat by our fireside, read all this, shuddered 
at the catalogue of human calamities, and 
felt truly grateful for our own preservation. 
It is only by comparison that we can know 
the many mercies of which we are the daily, 
hourly, momentary recipients. When we 
walk abroad, our meditations on these things 
are sweet. 

The month has been employed as usual ; 
and as it has been more varied in its amuse- 
ments than usual, people have enjoyed it 
in an increased ratio : — 

Around, around, around, around, 
The snow is on the frozen ground ! 
River and rill 
Are froze and still. 
The warm sun lies on the cold side hill, 

Andthe trees in the forest sound ; 
As their ice clasp'd arms wave to and fro 
When they shiver their gyves with a stalwart 

We have had skating, sliding, snow-ball- 
ing,— -in all their varieties. We have had 

lots of fun, too, in noticing the hosts of 
people who have " made themselves up" to 
stand the attacks of Jack Frost ; who has 
evidently determined this year to remind 
us of his power. To see the snow drifting, 
whirling — eddying along the spacious streets, 
and catching every unhappy pedestrian at 
the corners of our thoroughfares ! To see 
the vain attempts to escape from the deter- 
mined enemy, — umbrellas turned head over 
heels, and converted into broken bones ! 
Women's bonnets, already more than three 
parts off their heads, carried away altogether 
(a just punishment for their gross im- 
modesty), and their owners crying from cold 
and anger — in utter helplessness ! Then the 
tumbles, somersaults, slips, and gymnastic 
feats of the perambulating " gents," — What 
fun ! Was anything ever like it ? Never ! 

We roared most at the patronisers of the 
" beard and moustache movement." These 
bristly, beastly savages, — fine specimens of 
their " order" — presented a sight too ludicrous 
to depict faithfully. The snow had fairly 
converted their already deformed, hairy 
visages — into fac-similes of clowns and pan- 
taloons ; and as each zany shuffled along the 
street, he was greeted with a yell, groan, or 
shout from the passer-by. 

These frosted monkeys we shall never 
forget. To see them in their agony — flutter- 
ing along the highways, an object of universal 
derision, was an excellent practical lesson ; 
this will induce them, let us hope, to 
imitate humanity for the future. It is never 
too late to turn one's back upon folly. 
" Fashion" is a hard task -master ! He rules 
his victims with an iron rod ; first artfully 
seducing them, and then making them a 
public laughing-stock. But enough about 
our man-monkies. 

The month of January, as regards Lon- 
don, has received due honor from scribblers 
of all denominations. As regards the 
Country, it has produced scenes which will 
never be forgotten by those whose inclination 
led them out for a walk. Turn where you 
might, gaze where you would, — above, 
below, from hill, in valley ; here, there, every- 
where, — pictures of loveliness " painted in 
snow," extended far and near. There was 
an unlimited expanse of natural beauty for the 
eye to feast on, — all so pleasingly bewilder- 
ing, and so enchanting to the beholder, that 
no language could describe the effect pro- 
duced on his mind. Our pen refuses to make 
an attempt to give even an idea of it. Yet 
does " fond memory linger on what it saw," 
and the soul rejoice in looking back upon 
its transports. 

January has presented us with extremes. 
It has been intensely cold, and unseasonably 
warm. If our readers can call to mind the 
morning of the 14th, and also the morning of 



Hie 18th, they will remember that the former 
broke sweetly upon the senses, as " a sunny 
day in spring." The moon and the sun 
lovingly faced each other, — the former being 
reluctant to bid us adieu at the usual hour 
of parting. She went down with such a 
bright, happy face ! The birds, too, felt the 
prevailing influence ; and they instinctively 
fr itemised. The day was one of clear sun- 
shine, — the feathered tribes tuning up, 
and prepa ing their voices in honor of the 
occasion. On the 18th they were equally 
lively; and ever since, the progress of our 
little vocalists in the garden has been mar- 
vellous. Many of them are mated, an$ 
busily preparing for an active scene in 
domestic life. What a to-do we shall soon 
have with papas, mammas, and their liitle 
families ! Well ; we have laid in an enormous 
jar of mealworms for them, and our window 
is their rendezvous. They love us, and we 
love them. 

But we have headed this Paper, — Feb- 
ruary ! To apologise for our digression 
would occupy even more space ; so let us 
progress. Yes, February is here. And 
what thoughts does it not bring with it? 
Our dear mother, — Nature, has been asleep. 
But how long has she slept ? Has she in 
very deed been asleep at all f We question 
it much. Hers have been u gentle slumbers." 
Ever dreaming of the sons and daughters of 
men — her heart's delight — her visions have 
kept her watchful — wakeful. She has fancied 
we could not go on happily without her. She 
has stretched herself out — rubbed her eyes — 
peeped from her casement — given some secret 
instructions to her handmaids — and dozed 

Yes, — slowly, slowly, slowly 
Comes the Spring, 
Like a maiden holy ; 
Her blue eyes hid in a wimple of gray, 
But a hopeful smile on her face alway. 
Through the rich brown earth bursts the pale green 

From the milk-white threads of the sensitive root, 

Like a joy that is fragile and fleeting ; 
And the little house wren, in his plain drab coat, 
Holds forth, in a plaintive, querulous note, 

Like a Quaker at yearly meeting. 

Whilst we now write, ample evidence lies 
before us that her ladyship's instructions 
have been strictly carried out. Every hour 
unfolds some little secret surprise of hers; 
telling us of the bounties of her lavish hand. 
We look. We admire. We praise. We 
worship. Buds and blossoms — how we 
love ye ! . 

Those who have gardens — we pity all those 
who have not — need no invitation of ours 
to caT them abroad at this season. There 
are so many lovely little strangers continually 
peeping up on every side — so many modest 

tiny heads struggling into life, that our flower- 
borders have become an irresistible attrac- 
tion. The same in the fields, under sheltered 
hedges ; and in those many delightful lanes 
through which our feet so love to wander. 
Ere another month shall have passed, our 
good mother will have " slept her sleep " 
She will open her eyes, look around her, wake 
up like a giant refreshed, and go forth in her 
great strength — to perfect in their season 
what she has already been so beneficently 
preparing. We will follow in her footsteps, 
and worship at her shrine. 

The days are now lengthening " nicely." 
The mornings break fresh upon the spirits. 
Our dear, glorious, much-loved Sun, rises 
upon us with a face of love that fairly binds 
us to him for ever. Young as he is, even 
now he warms our heart, and tills it with 
rejoicing. All nature greets him, — the God 
of day ! And how our pets, the birds, look 
out for him at early morn ! What floods of 
song — even now, do the robin, thrush, and 
little wren pour forth ! The blackbird, too, 
is tuning up ; and the hedge-sparrow, chaf- 
finch, and tit-mice are rehearsing sweetly. 
Nor does the sky-lark come behind in his 
songs of praise. Oh— no ! He, — noble 
herald of the sky — is already up, high on 
the wing, carolling it bravely ; and making 
Heaven's gate resound with his morning 
anthem. But words fail us. Rise betimes 
good folk ; and in the clear, clasping, morn- 
ing air, attend the " Early Matins " of the 
woods. Then bow your knee ; and reverently 
worship. " Let every thing that hath 
breath praise the Lord ! " Amen ! 

But stay ! Our boys and girls ; we had 
well nigh forgotten them. How happy they 
all have been during the past month ; sight- 
seeing, visiting, dancing, playing, romping, 
and rejoicing ! It has been a fine season for 
them, both in and out of doors. Merry- 
making at home, parties abroad ; sliding, 
skating, snow-balling — there has been un- 
heard-of fun. Cakes, wine, and " all the 
delicacies of the season," have (wherever we 
have been) appeared — and efts-appeared like 
magic, — Oliver Twist's cry for " more ! " 
being, as usual, in the ascendant. We have 
often wondered if the stomachs of children — ■ 
school-boys in particular — were fashioned 
like those of adults. It may be so ; but we 
are frequently inclined to doubt it. Theirs 
is such an endless swallow ! 

Well, our boys and girls have had " their 
fill" of holiday delights. The time is at 
hand when they must bid a short adieu to 
the glories of pantomime and fairy-land. 
" Black Monday" is in the near distance, 
and the wand of the enchanter must be laid 
aside for propria quae maribus. Let us hope 
that one and all will cheerfully return to 
their studies, and vie energetically with 



each other to see who shall learn most. 
We will not slumber whilst they are toiling ; 
but prepare for them, in their absence, as 
much amusement and instruction as our 
columns will contain. When we meet again, 
we will be even better friends than ever ; for 
we love to direct the minds of our youth. 
So employed, we feel young as the youngest. 

We had intended to have said a few words 
about " St. Valentine's Day ; " but our space 
forbids us to do more than hint at it. Al- 
ready we observe flaming missives of furious 
love, rampant in ihe shop-windows. Cupids, 
highly-colored, blushing deeply ; and maidens 
of all ranks simpering up, in " colors of every 
hue," with evident intentions of killing some- 
body. What unhappy, overcharged, inflated 
hearts, too, do we see — panting to be 
"broken!" Who could "break" them? 
Not we ! 

Then those funny little chapels of ease ; 
and those churches, — so conveniently situ- 
ated to rivet Hymen's magic chain ! And 
see how the sun grins at that bilious-looking 
parson, who is rehearsing the " matrimonial 
service," in anticipation of" a job," followed 
by his fee (fo ! fum !). And what piercing, 
wickedly-sharp piercing arrows, are those in 
that glittering quiver yonder ! In sober 
truth, that bellows-faced Cupid means some- 
thing desperate. Look at him. He has 
drawn a sigh that ought to cleave the hardest, 
stoutest heart, into four pieces. 

Young ladies ! beware. Cupid is a droll 
little fellow. He is called " harmless ; " but 
all his arrows are tipped with a poisonous 
sting ; which, if it enters deep into your 
heart, — look out ! There is more in it than 
meets the eye ; and believe us, there is, more- 
over, " danger" in itf Our poor postmen, 
happy in their ignorance, will, on Tuesday, 
the 14th inst., scatter some millions of fire- 
brands over the world, — the consequences 
of which who shall dare to foretel ? 

Once again, — young people, beware of 
February 14 ! 


Why is Love for ever changing, — 

Bee-like, ever on the wing ? 
O'er the sweetest flow'rets ranging, 

Tasting but to leave a sting ? 
Flirting now with summer roses, 

Seeking now some newer prize ; 
Where a moment he reposes, 

And again inconstant flies ? 

'Tis not Love that thus is changing ; 

His home is in the maiden's heart ; 
Can he then be ever ranging ? 

From such a home, oh who would part? 
Clouds may darken o'er her bosom, 

Even yet young Love will stay ; 
'Tis his pride to shield the blossom, 

Not to bear its bloom away ! C.J. 



BY F. J. GALL, M.D. 

( Continued from Vol. IV, Page 3Q0.J 

Since sad experience shows us that the class 
of criminals we last spoke of, is not led by repent- 
ance, or by natural remorse to resist their violent 
inclinations, it only remains to produce in them 
an artificial conscience; that is to say, a clear 
idea, a lively conviction of the immorality of their 
actions, and of the disorder and mischief which 
must result from them — not only for society, but 
for themselves ; or, in other words, these men 
have more need than any others, to have supplied 
from without, what is wanting in them on the 
part of their internal organisation. 

And here, again, appears a principle, which, 
however opposed to the precipitate conclusions of 
rash and inconsiderate persons, is immediately 
derived from a particular study of human nature 
in detail, viz. th t the greater and more obstinate 
the resistance which is offered by the natural 
dispositions and habits of men, the more necessary 
it becomes to multiply and strengthen the con- 
trary motives — the more necessary it is to propor- 
tion the punishments, and the more perseverance 
it is necessary to use, in combating them; so that 
if we cannot conquer, we may at least restrain 
and paralyse their exercise. For. the question 
no longer concerns internal criminality, nor justice 
in its most rigorous sense : the necessary protec- 
tion of society is concerned in the prevention of 
crimes, and the correction of evil-doers, and in 
placing the community in safety from the 
attempts of those who are more or less incorri- 

The degree of Culpability and of Expiation differ 
according to the different condition of the 
individual, although the illegal act and the pun- 
ishment be essentially the same. 

I foresee with pain, that many years will elapse 
before my doctrine on the nature of man will be 
universally adopted. And even when this period 
shall have arrived for physiologists, instructors, 
philosophers, yet legislators will delay much 
longer to apply it to the criminal legislation. 
The laws are to them a sort of religion,, the least 
modification of which appears to them a heresy. 
It is not a single enlightened man, it is an 
assembly of several men, who make the laws ; 
and where shall we find a mass of legislators 
possessing equal knowledge? It is then to be 
feared that the true wants of human nature may 
yet remain too generally misunderstood, to allow 
the criminal code immediately to overcome this 
multitude of obstacles, prejudices, ancient customs ; 
which hold it bound to the cradle of its infancy. 

The penal code determines the nature of crimes 
and misdemeanors, and then fixes the punishment 
to be inflicted. It is the nature of the act itself, 
which furnishes the measure of punishment; 
without regard to the person committing the act, 
or the person expiating the crime. Without 
doubt, we shall meet too many difficulties in pro- 
ceeding otherwise, and this is judged to be the 
only means of obtaining perfect equality and 
impartiality in the administration of justice. But 

it is evident, that it is precisely in this manner 
that we render ourselves guilty of the most crying 
injustice; and, while we almost always fail to 
obtain a just estimate of the crime, fail equally in 
the proportionate application of the punishment. 

I submit to the consideration of legislators 
some considerations which must necessarily have 
been presented a thousand times, and which will 
be refuted a thousand times — perhaps for the sole 
reason, that their principle has not been tested by 
an acquaintance with human nature in detail. 

Crimes and Misdemeanors are not committed of 
themselves; they cannot, therefore, be con- 
sidered as abstract beings. 

Crimes and Offences are the result of the actions 
of individuals ; they therefore receive their 
character from the nature and situation of 
these individuals ; and they can only be esti- 
mated and determined, according to the nature 
and situation of these same individuals. 

You appear to deny these axioms. Well ! I 
shall prove them to you. 

You judge, and you punish an act committed 
in intoxication, or in violent rage, differently from 
the same act when committed in the full posses- 
sion of reason, and with premeditation. You 
judge a theft, a murder — committed by an idiot, a 
madman, otherwise than you judge a theft, a 
murder, committed by a man enjoying his reason. 

You acknowledge, then, and you must acknow- 
ledge, that acts are nothing in themselves ; that 
they receive their character from the individual 
who committed them. But why do you refuse to 
be consistent in the greater part of your criminal 
prosecutions ? I ask you, and let your conscience 
answer me : — Is that tbe same sort of robbery, 
which is committed by a dishonest gamester, by 
a robust idler, by a debauched usurer, as that 
committed by a feeble widow, lying in extreme 
want with numerous children crying to her for 
bread ? 

Is that the same sort of murder, which is com- 
mitted .by an insulted brother, against the perjured 
seducer of his beloved sister, as that committed 
by a son-in-law, who, the sooner to riot in profu- 
sion and debauchery, poisons the parents of his 

Pursue, yourselves, the list of crimes and 
offences, the degree of whose criminality differs 
totally, and which in your legislation, are con- 
founded in the same rank; and say if I am wrong 
to reproach you, that criminal legislation is yet 
in its infancy. In general, without turning our 
eyes on a thousand other extenuating or aggra- 
vating circumstances, which do not at all influence 
your final judgment, how have you been able to 
decide that the actions of men without education, 
ignorant even of the existence of a penal code, 
superstitious, at the mercy of violent and gross 
passions, &c., ought to be stamped with the same 
degree of immorality and culpability as the actions 
of men, who knowing the whole extent, and the 
whole danger of their perversity, surround it with 
cunning and hypocrisy, the better to secure the 
impunity of their crimes ? 

For the same reason, you will not persuade me, 
that the prison, branding, the collar, (carcan,) 

corporal punishment, hard labor, and even death 
are the same punishment to persons of all sexes 
ages, constitutions, and of all conditions ; to 
vagabonds, unknown, insulated, degraded, accus- 
tomed to privations and to hard and precarious 
living ; for that race of the brazen-faced and im- 
pudent, who make a boast of their crimes ; who 
are tied to the infamous post of the pillory, walk 
to the scaffold, gaily insult the spectators, &c ; ; as 
they are for persons imbued with the principles 
of honor, accustomed to the comforts of life, con- 
nected to society by a respectable family, by a 
wife and children, but overtaken by crime in an 
unhappy moment, &c. 

These reflections will suffice to make eacb one 
sensible that the measure of the culpability, and 
the measure of the punishment, should not be 
derived either from the matter of the illegal act, 
nor from any determinate punishment ; but solely 
from the situation of the individual acting. 

But, it will be said, in what difficulties do you 
involve criminal jurisdiction ! Certainly it is 
very easy to say, such a crime, such an offence, 
demands such a punishment; all the science of 
the judge is then reduced to substantiating and 
determining the fact; as to the application of the 
punishment, there is no longer the least em- 
barrassment. But it cannot be doubted that, 
according to these principles, we every instant 
confound the unfortunate with the wicked ; and 
sometimes must punish too much, sometimes too 
little, and ever be liable to pass the most misplaced 
and the most unjust judgments. 

The opinions and errors of ideologists and 
meaphysicians may be indifferent on account 
of their sterility ; but, it is matter of sacred duty 
that the opinions of those who exert a more or 
less powerful influence on the happiness and misery 
of society, that the opinions of governors, instruc- 
tors, moralists, legislators, physicians, should be 
based on the nature and the wants of man. 

Of the Gradation of Punishments, and of the 
Punishment of Death. 

It is with good reason, that men have adopted 
the principle of the gradation of punishments. 
We punish the same offence with the more seve- 
rity, according as it has been more frequently com- 
mitted ; because the repetitions imply a more 
imperious propensity to crime and greater corrup- 
tion in the culprit. 

We punish differently a simple theft, robberies 
committed in the night, and with breaking in 
with armed force, with riot ; we act with more 
severity toward the leader of an insurrection, 
than his accomplices ; against those counterfeiters 
who coin gold and silver, than those who only 
stamp coins of copper. We inflict on a mother 
who has exposed her infant, different punishments 
according as the infant has incurred more or less 
risk of perishing ; and by these modifications of 
the laws, we imply that it is necessary to choose 
means more and more efficacious, graduated ac- 
cording to the intention of the malefactor, and 
according to the more or less serious conse- 
quences of his crime. 

Experience has proved, that, in certain cases, 
it is even necessary to resort to the punishment of 
death. But how many objections has not the 
sensibility of philanthropists raised against the 



punishment of death ? If we regard the punish- 
ment of death, as the destruction of a mischievous 
and incorrigible individual, or as a means of pre- 
venting crime, I think, with Montesquieu, J. J. 
Rousseau, Sonnenfels, Hommel, Filangieri, 
Schmalz, Kleinschrodt, Feuerbach, Klein, Bexon, 
and others, that we cannot call in question the 
right, which society has, of destroying one of its 
members. To deny this truth would be to refuse 
to society the right of providing for its security 
and good order, and, consequently, of employing 
all the means and all the motives capable of pre- 
venting crimes. Who can doubt that the punish- 
ment of death is an effectual means of inti- 
midating the greater part of those whose inclina- 
tions are perverse ?* 

There is room for some very sage distinctions 
for determining the cases which render the 
punishment of death indispensable. Can we inflict 
it on a person whose conduct has always been 
irreproachable, and ~who has been urged, by an 
extremely unfortunate combination of circum- 
stances, to the commission of murder? Such a 
murderer is neither so wicked nor so incorrigible, 
as many of the pests of society. Again, it is 
cruelty to pronounce sentence of death, as the law 
is in many countries, for crimes to which a large 
number of individuals are constantly exposed ; 
often by the negligence of others, often by tempta- 
tions, unhappily too well suited to human frailty, 
such as theft, &c. ; or for vices which have little 
influence on social order, and the immorality of 
which, however revolting, remains concentrated 
in the agent, such as certain excesses of sen- 
suality, &c. 

If there be a crime, which deserves to be treated 
as murder the most premeditated, foolish and 
dangerous, that crime is duelling. Usually for 
the merest trifles, and sometimes, exasperated by 
the taunts of a bully by profession, men kill one 
another, in presence of numerous witnesses ! No ! 
I might in vain transport myself to the most 
barbarous countries and times, I should never be 
able to conceive their allowing so atrocious, so 
cruel an outrage on morality to subsist ! Pre- 

• We have serious doubts, not only as to the expe- 
diency of capital punishment, but as to our having any 
right to take life for any offence. Capital punishment 
must either be defended on the ground that the Scrip- 
tures sanction it, or that criminals should be made to 
receive a certain degree of pain for a certain degree of 
guilt ; or, that the safety of society requires it as terror 
to prevent a repetition of crime. The plea, that capital 
punishment prevents the repetition of crime we think 
unfounded. We are of opinion, that it is not in the nature 
of capital punishment to produce the result desired. To 
suppose that the punishment of one individual will have 
the effect to destroy the propensity to sin in another, is 
uuphilosophical, inasmuch as moral reformation is not 
the natural effect of such a cause. The only sure remedy 
against crime is to improve the condition of man. If an 
individual has violated the laws of God and man, he 
should be treated rather as a moral patient, than a being 
capable of appreciating moral excellence. The fact that 
he does not respect virtue and honor, proves that he is 
insensible to their influence — and shows the necessity of 
his being educated entirely with reference to a proper 
development of them. In order that such a person may 
be subjected to suitable discipline — to develop his moral 
sentiments, confinement would become necessary ; but it 
should never be attended by circumstances to degrade 
the subject in his own estimation. His improvement 
would depend upon the display of those good qualities in 
the persons of his keepers, in which he proved himself 
deficient by his acts of moral turpitude.— Ed. K. J. 

judice, say you, demands it. Prejudice ! To 
prejudice, then, the laws must sacrifice the life of 
the citizens, morality, the precepts of religion, the 
happiness of families ! But how destroy this 
prejudice? How have other nations destroyed 
it ? But it is not well, you say again, to destroy 
a prejudice which upholds courage and honor. 
What honor, what courage, is it to kill or be 
killed for a few words which happen to displease 
you, or for the vanity and admiration of a mistress ? 
Die for your country, perish in defence of her 
rights, and men will acknowledge your courage. 
The French nation has certainly no need of these 
follies, of this braggadocio prowess, to convince 
the world that she has honor and courage. 

As for the gradation of punishment, many 
governments wholly omit the punishment of death, 
except in cases of parricide and regicide. Men 
then regard the punishment of death as the final 
limit of the rights of justice over the guilty. 

But is the punishment of death, without aggra- 
vation, always sufficient to prevent crime ? Fre- 
quently, death itself is no evil. The unfortunate 
man, as Sonnenfels says, wishes it, because it will 
deliver him from alljjhis troubles ; man, in despair, 
inflicts it on himself; the martyrs to glory, or 
religion, run to meet it, to gain a name, or to 
enjoy the happiness of future life : the laws even 
suppose that the loss of life will not deter the 
guilty, since they enjoin the preventing them 
from destroying themselves in prison. Experience, 
too, teaches how little the sentence of death 
agitates them, and with what resolution they go 
to the scaffold. For those men whose life is a 
continual scene of crimes and of brutal pleasure, 
perpetual imprisonment would be a more painful 
punishment than death. Shame, and regard for 
the future, are nothing with such wretches : to 
die is nothing say they, and there we must end. 
Does not the consequence follow then, that the 
punishment of death ought to be aggravated? 
Man, considered as a reasonable being, is deter- 
mined by the strongest and most numerous 
motives : we must then oppose to the criminal, 
motives the more powerful as his propensity to 
evil is more energetic, and as the consequences of 
it are more mischievous ; and ordinary death 
being insufficient, we must seek to deter him by 
the menace of one more terrible. 

To give to this exception an appearance of 
philosophy and justice, it is said, that the enormity 
of the crimes for which the punishment of death 
is established hardly permits us to perceive the 
smallest difference between them, and that, con- 
sequently, we cannot introduce any modification 
of the punishment of death. 

If we must judge of crimes from the malignity 
of the malefactor, and the evils which result from 
them ; if it be even established as an axiom, that a 
crime consists in the act itself and in the intention 
of the evildoer; these principles, against which 
there is nothing to object, cannot agree with the 
assertion that all capital crimes are nearly equal, 
and, consequently, merit equal punishment. Can 
we maintain that the man, who for revenge kills 
with deliberate purpose the destroyer of the 
happiness of his life ; that he, who exasperated 
by the insolent conduct of a traitor, immolates 
him to his resentment ; that a young girl, without 
experience and a prey to despair, who destroys 



her infant ; are criminals as great, as corrupt as 
the prostitute, who murders the companions of her 
debaucheries, in order to rob them of the little 
they possess ; as the bandit, whose whole life is 
but a tissue of robbery and murder? Can we say, 
that the murderer who destroys a single man, is as 
dangerous as the monsters who, urged by infernal 
cupidity, poison several individuals, and even 
whole families ; who have no horror of the most 
atrocious means, provided they attain their end; 
and who spread terror, devastation, and death, on 
the highways, in forests, and in villages ? — as 
the traitor who plunges a whole nation into the 
most frightful miseries? On the one hand, is it 
not deplorable, and on the other, is it not in some 
sort a subject of pride for the greatest criminals, 
that we annihilate all distinction between acts so 
dissimilar? Has not the ferocious wretch reason 
to heap cruelty on cruelty to gratify his sangui- 
nary and insatiable desires, when, in multiplying 
his offences, he neither aggravates the enormity of 
his crimes, nor the punishment he has to dread ? 

To all this, it is objected, that simple death is 
the severest punishment which can be inflicted 
on a criminal ; that it suffices to place society in 
security against the crimes which he might after- 
wards commit ; and that, consequently, the 
punishment of aggravated death would be bar- 
barity. I answer, that punishments cannot, and 
should not, be the sole end of the legislator and 
the judge. The end of arresting and deterring 
criminals is not gained simply by the punishment 
of death. It is certain that determined male- 
factors fear it very little. How many prisoners 
have put an end to their lives to deliver them- 
selves from perpetual imprisonment ! How many 
have killed themselves to escape public execution ! 
A great number prefer death to blows and torture. 
We must, then, emplo} r more energetic means to 
terrify this brood of villains, and to set bounds to 
their inveterate wickedness. In fact, if the de- 
pravity of the criminals, who, under the law, 
merit death, is not in all to the same degree ; if 
the acts of these criminals are sometimes more, 
sometimes less prejudicial to the interests of 
society, it is right that the punishment of death, 
like every other punishment, should be modified 
and graduated. Every criminal will not regard, 
as indifferent, every kind of imaginable capital 
punishment ; the prisoner, the incendiary, the 
bandit, will not view a slow and painful death 
with the same indifference as they would 
regard the destruction which takes place 

All the principles which I have laid down, on 
the means of correcting criminals, and of diminish- 
ing their number, result as immediate conse- 
quences from my doctrine of the innateness of 
the faculties of the soul and mind, and on moral 
liberty. AVill it now be said, that this doctrine 
favors crime ? 

I have spoken thus far of criminals whose 

* These are purely the suggestions of destructiveness — 
and we are not a little surprised, to find that so discri- 
minating a mind as that of Dr. Gall should ever sanction 
such sentiments. Perhaps, however, as he was accused 
of holding doctrines too mild for the safety of society, so 
far as criminals were concerned, he was induced to the 
opposite extreme by expressing the state of his feelings, 
rather than the results of a deliberate judgment. — Ed.K.J. 

culpability could not be called in question ; but it 
is still my duty to direct the attention to those 
extremely complicated cates, where we find great 
difficulty in determining the degree of moral 
liberty and responsibility of the individual. 



I dreamt that the friendship of happier days 

Revived with the heart's softest sigh ; 
Again we repeated our favorite lays, 

And hours pass'd merrily by. 
I thought as through forest and woodland we ranged 

The bright sun-beams danced on the stream ; 
That you smiled, and assured me your love had 
not changed ; 

Alas ! it was only a dream. 

Yet the accent was yours, and the words gently fell 

With soft soothing sounds on my ear ; 
In silence I listened, lest I should dispel 

The smile that had banished my fear. 
You spoke of the friends we shall never see more, 

Who once claimed your love and esteem, 
And you sighed as I often have heard you before ; 

Oh ! — " why" was it only a dream ? 

Still onward we wander'd, our path strew'd with 

The birds singing sweetly above ; 
I felt the return of our happier hours 

Established by friendship and love. 
The dark clouds that hung o'er the future had 

I revell'd in Hope's brightest beam ; 
No longer neglected — forsaken — alone, 

Oh ! — would that it were not a dream 1 


Away with false fashion, so calm and so chill, 

Where pleasure itself cannot please ; 
Away with cold breeding, that faithlessly still 

Affects to be quite at its ease ! 
For the deepest in feeling is highest in rank, 

The freest is first of the band ; 
And Nature's own Nobleman, friendly and frank, 

Is a man with his heart in his hand. 

Fearless in honesty, gentle yet just, 

He warmly can love, and can hate ; 
Nor will he bow down, with his face in the dust, 

To Fashion's intolerant state; 
For best in good breeding and highest in rank, 

Though lowly or poor, in the land, 
Is Nature's own Nobleman, friendly and frank, 

The man with his heart in his hand ! 

His fashion is passion, sincere and intense, — 

His impulse is simple and true ; 
Yet temper'd by judgment, and taught by good 

And cordial with me and with you. 
For the finest in manners, as highest in rank, 

It is you, man ! or you, man ! who stand, 
Nature's own Nobleman, friendly and frank, — 

A man with his heart in his hand. 

M. Tupper. 





(Continued from Vol. IV., Page 362 .) 

Here I am again, my dear old friend, 

jolly as a " Sand-boy." In my last, if you re- 
member, I described some of the persevering annoy- 
ances to which my old master was subjected, to 
gratify the revengeful feelings of the garde cham- 
petre — whom, after all, he had only treated as 
he deserved. Entre nous — if foreigners abroad 
did not make themselves respected, — aye, and 
feared too, — they would lead a pretty life ! I can 
honestly speak from my own personal experience 
in this country. If I had not pulled the ears of 
some scores of insolent English puppies, I really 
could not have maintained my proper dignity. 

The finale of these said proceedings was very 
different from what my friend had anticipated; as 
the result of the hearings before the Juge de Paix 
will prove. The great day at length arrived ; 
when Bombyx and his sons, accompanied by his 

servant Francois, Pere H , and la Catharina, 

appeared on one side. The garde champetre, the 

worthy host of the "Pinte," R , two brothers 

P d, two brothers V r, a certain R 1, 

two cousins B c, another B 1, one L s, 

one P n, one M 1, &c. &c. 

The Magistrate having taken his seat, with 
some attendants on his right, and some officers on 
his left, together with a queer little gentleman to 
take down notes and evidence at a small table 
beneath, — a little bell was rung, and business 
commenced. First, an officer appeared, in the 
ante-chamber, and summoned Bombyx and his 
witnesses. They were then placed to the right of 
the magistrate, being the accusing parties. The 
same officer next summoned the garde champetre 
and his party ; and they had their place on the 
magistrate's left hand, exactly confronting 
Bombyx. A space of some twenty feet squai*e 
was between them, parted off from the court; 
and in front of the magistrate was reserved plenty 
of room for any one who might feel interested in 
the proceedings. There was also, immediately 
above, a gallery for the use of the public. 

Silence having been obtained, the clerk read 
over the accusation ; and then handed it to the 
worthy magistrate, who called upon Bombyx to 
say whether or not he confirmed the charge. To 
this, an answer was of course given in the affirma- 
tive. The witnesses on both sides were then 
ordered to withdraw to adjacent rooms, and Bom- 
byx remained alone on his side, — the garde cham- 
petre, mine host of the " Pinte," R , and the 

two brothers P d, being on the other. These 

four were accused as principals, the others with 
aiding, abetting, &c. A chair was then placed in 
the middle of the open space, precisely opposite 
the magistrate, and Bombyx was requested to 
occupy it. Bombyx, unaccustomed to foreign 
ceremonies, approached the chair, and stood before 
the magistrate; who, in a mild tone, requested him 
to be seated, and then addressing him, asked if 
he was at all related to any of the accused party. 
"No, sir." m 

" Then," said he, " you can be sworn. Be so 
good as to stand up, and raise the right hand." 
The worthy judge continued — " Vousjurez de dire 
la verite, — toute la verite, — et rien que la verite; 

comme vous esperez Ure sauve a votre dernier 
moment. " 

" Je le jure" said Bombyx. 
At this moment there was a solemn silence, 
during which Bombyx, at the command of the 
magistrate, resumed his seat. The latter then 
said to my old master, — 

" Now Bombyx, be so kind as to relate to us, 
as precisely as you can, the whole occurrence." 
When Bombyx had finished, he handed to the 

magistrate the certificate of Dr. M , declaring 

in what state he found the servant; also another 
from the veterinary surgeon, relative to myself, 
and the wound I had received ; declaring it was 
done with some double-edged sharp instrument. 
These two documents were then read aloud by the 
clerk ; and when the double-edged, sharp instru- 
ment was mentioned, one of the brothers P d 

changed countenance so much, that everybody in 
court remarked it — the worthy magistrate par- 

When Bombyx's examination was over, the 
magistrate thus addressed the accused, — 

" Have you any question to ask Bombyx, or any 
objection or observation co make ? " 
All rise at once. 

" Cest un gros mensonge, depuis le commence- 
ment jusqu 1 a la fin. 

"Be so kind," said the magistrate, " as to recol- 
lect where you are. Such language as that 1 shall 
not allow; and if it be repeated I shall instantly 
punish you. And you may thank Bombyx for not 
having complained ; had he done so, I should have 
locked you all up for a few days. 

This momentarily produced a good effect. The 
elder brother P d now addressed the magis- 

" Monsieur le Juge, je w' y etais pas. J' etais 
a Morges." 

Magistrate. — " Qu'est ce que vous, faisiez a 
Morges a, huite heures le soir ? " 

P d. — " Ce que jefaisais ? /' avais affaire 

la has. 1 ' 

Magistrate. — " Quelles af aires?" 

P d— " Faut il dire? " 

Magistrate. — " Certainement." 

P d (with a stupid grin). — "Well; I was 

returning home." 

R (turning to the elder P d). — " Grosse 

bete que tu es ! " 

Magistrate. — " Call Francois, Bombyx's ser- 

Francois was likewise sworn, and related the 
whole occurrence, declaring that he recognised 

distinctly the two brothers P d ; moreover, 

that he called them by their names, and told them 
that he knew them both. That they were the 
two who seized him, and knocked him down, and 
beat him, and kicked him in a most cruel way. 
He said further, that he had no doubt that if his 
master had not been well armed when he came 
out, he would have been similarly ill-used. He 
could not say which of them ill-treated the dog. 

Magistrate. — "Now you two brothers P d, 

you hear what Frangois has declared. What do 

you say to it ? P d aine, have you anything 

to say?" 

P d aine.— u Moil " 

R (to P d aine). — " Cest une cocho- 

nerie, — ne dites rien." 



P d aine (to the magistrate). — "Jen'airien 

a dire, Monsieur le Juge." 

P d cadet. — "Monsieur le June, j'y etais 

par hazard. Je retoumais de la oille, et fallals 
chez moi." 

Magistrate. — " I thought you lived near Ouchy?" 

P d cadet. — " Cest bien sur." 

Magistrate. — " What were you doing near 
Bombyx's house, pray ? That's not your way 

R (to P d cadet.) — " Eh la toute grosse 

bete! Eh! V animal!" 

Something still more pretty was coming, but a 
look from the worthy magistrate had a proper 

Magistrate (to P d cadet) — " Answer me, 

sir. What were you doing in the neighborhood of 
Bombyx's house ? " 

P d cadet. — " Je eheminais mon chemin tout 

doucement. J'ai vu Francois sortir de chez lui. 
II est malheureusement tombe; et moi,je suis tombe 
sur lui par accident, Mousieur le Juge, Ilfaisait 
bien nuit. Nous ne pouvions pas voir. Je ne lui 
ai point fait du mal, pas la JBrique. Je Vaime 
beaucoup Francois. C est unbon enfant. Vous 
congevez, Monsieur le Juge, c' etait un pur acci- 
dent. Mais Monsieur Bombgx nous en veut." 

Magistrate (to P d cadet). — You had no 

stiletto — nor dagger — no sharp instrument f " 

P d cadet. — " Non. & est mon fr ere qui 

en a." 


-" Et le Nigaud! 

Garde Champetre. — " Et le vilain Merle! " 

Magistrate. — " Be quiet there ! " 

R (stamping with his feet.) — u Cest unfou, 

Monsieur le Juge. 1 " 1 

Magistrate.—" Will you be quiet, R ? " 

R • — " Crapaud de crapaud." 

Magistrate (to R.) — " I shall desire the constable 
to take you out of court if you speak again." 

Magistrate (to P d cadet.) — " You have 

told us that you were walking home, and that you 
accidentally fell over Francis. When you got up 
again, what did you do ? What did you see ? " 

P d cadet. — J' ai vu un gros chien. II etait 

tout noir. C 1 etait un tout gros chien, un puissant 

animal. Ce ri 'etait pas le petit chien de B . 

Oh, non! G 'etait un terrible chien. Enfin, 
c 1 etait Fino ; et Monsieur Bombyx est sorti tout 

Magistrate.—" Et puis f " 

P d cadet. — Je eheminais mon chemin " (in 

a high voice). 

Magistrate.—" Et puis ? " 

P d cadet. — " Je eheminais mon chemin" 

(in a lower voice). 

Magistrate. — " Apres quoi ? Allons ! " 

P d cadet. — " Je suis alle boire une quar- 

telle chez B " 

Magistrate. — " Yous V avez trouv6 chez lui f " 
— d cadet. — " Non, Monsieur le Juge." 


' Eh ! le Singe ! 

Garde Champetre (^to R 
We are ' sold.' " 

.) — "He's a traitor. 

Magistrate looks severely to R . 

u Pardonnez I Monsieur le Juge, mais il nous a 

Magistrate. —"I have already warned you 
several times not to interrupt the Court. Call 
Pere H ." 

Pere H , after being sworn, related, in a 

stentorian voice, ail he had seen ; and recognised 
every one of these worthies as participate, rs in 
the brutal outrage. 

" Monstre que tu es ! " calls out R . Vous 

etes toujours endormi bien avant huite heures." 

Pere H grinned a horrid smile, and told the 

magistrate that he was moreover confirmed in all 

that he had said, by over-hearing R , and the 

garde champetre, relating the whole affair to an 
individual whom he did not know; whilst himself 
and his Catharina were unperceived on the other 
side of the hedge. 

The rapid change of countenance, both of R— — - 
and the policeman, sufficiently attested the truth 

of Pere H 's story ; which was also borne out 

by the gentle Catharina, in the most expressive 
German patois imaginable. 

R 's other witnesses were all examined, but 

they only made his position still worse, and more 

Magistrate (to R and his party). — "Now 

you have heard what has been brought forward 
against you. Have you anything further to say ? 

And you, P d aine', who have declared you 

were at Morges ? " 

P d aine could stand it no longer ; so he 

admitted his falsehood, but declared the dog had 
accidentally run up against his stiletto. All here 
spoke to the general kind-heartedness and unim- 
peachable conduct of R and the policeman. 

The worthy magistrate, however, was not of the 
same opinion. He dismissed the policeman tem- 
porarily from his post ; inflicted a fine of twenty- 
five Swiss francs " damages " on the servant ; 
and held them all " separately and collectively," 
responsible pour lesfraix. This was an addition 
of about one hundred francs ! Rage, fury, and 
revenge now fearfully galled the breasts of these 

worthies ; and when the business was over, R 

called out — " Ce sera a notre tour bientot. Nous, 
nous retrouverons." 

I really cannot curtail the next day's proceed- 
ings, although I have done so on the present 
occasion. I am therefore obliged to conclude here ; 
and wishing you health, happiness, and a "jolly," 
New Year, 

I am, ever, your faithful old Dog, 


Tottenham, Jan. 15, 1854. 


Man, as ever, follows his own folly, 
Heedless of all his mighty destinies ; 
And though a golden crown, and robes like snow 
Hang in Heaven's arch suspended by a thread, 
H'3 will not by a single act of his 
Dissever the thin cord, and suffer them 
To fold him in the vesture of a king ! 
Nor will he notice that the great white hand 
Is busy tracing out naw characters 
Upon the vast walls of the universe ; 
Until some second deep-eyed Daniel come 
To lip the lightning words in thunder tones ! 

G. B. 





(Continued from Vol. IV., Page 364.J 

How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber ? 
When the wind moved his garments how oft didst 
thou start ? 
H ow many long days and Ions weeks didst thou number, 
Ere he faded before thee,— the friend of thy heart ? 

Sin Waltee Scott. 

Before resuming ray narrative, I cannot 
help wishing you, "my dear old English 
gentleman,' 1 and all readers of Our Journal, 
— a Happy New Year ; being quite sure that 
you have had a " Merry Christmas," or some 
one has missed the " star of the evening." 
[Charlie ! you are a wag.] 

Mais allons. When we arrived at our 
town house, Dr. Kent was immediately sent 
for ; and, after hearing all the circumstances 
connected with the case, frankly confessed 
that, like the surgeon in Macbeth, he could 
not undertake to " minister to a mind dis- 
eased," but recommended as much change 
as possible in locality ; and as the medical 
man who attended Miss Emily had ordered 
her to travel, it was soon decided that we 
were to visit the Continent, and move from 
place to place. 

Nothing of importance occurred until our 
arrival at Boulogne ; where, on landing, we 
were surrounded by a set of diminutive men — 
like soldiers, who act there as do our custom- 
officers ; and one of them seeing something 
bulky under Miss Emily's shawl, pulled it 
on one side to see what it was. On this, 1 
(for it was I who was there) bit his hand. 
Oh, how he spluttered and jabbered about ! 
u #acre/"cried he ; and inhis rage he was going 
to strike me. But he had calculated without 
his host ; for no sooner was his hand raised 
than poor old Nep, whose temper had not 
improved by his self-imposed abstinence, 
seized him by the throat, bore him to the 
ground, and would, had not Mr. Vandelour 
called him off, have strangled him on the 

Paris, Baden-Baden, Frankfort, Rome, and 
Venice, were in turn visited ; and at each of 
those places the most celebrated veterinarians 
were " consulted" on poor Neptune's com- 
plaint, — for he still ate only just sufficient to 
keep life in him. Without a single exception, 
each of these wiseheads declared in turn — that 
he suffered from some scientific and long-named 
complaint ; and, between them, they admin- 
istered a wheelbarrow- full of medicines. Of 
course he became weaker and weaker ; until 
one morning, when Miss Emily came down 
to breakfast, he' could with difficulty crawl 
upon the floor (this he did to meet her, as 
she came into the room), when he looked in 
her face, wagged his beautiful tail, tried to 
stand, — but fell at her feet to rise no more. 
Alas ! poor Nep was dead ! 

Laugh, ye fashionable flies ; and sneer, ye 
wife-beating husbands ! A beautiful maiden 
weeps the death of a friend, although " only 
a dog ! " She was not of the Chesterfield 
school, but she felt like a true woman. Nor 
was she ashamed of nature. She had lost the 
parting gift of the man she loved — the com- 
panion of many a pleasant ramble, and many 
a happy hour. / had lost my protector, — 
the preserver of my life ! 

The next day poor Nep's remains were 
buried in the garden of a friend of my 
master's. Miss Emily planted a willow at 
his head, and had a stone erected at his feet, 
the meaning and simplicity of which far out- 
shone many a marble monument that I have 
seen in our cemeteries, " besprinkled o'er 
with lies.'' It bore this inscription . — 


In three days after this, we again changed 
our quarters, and went to Switzerland ; still 
hoping against hope (nearly twelve months 
had been already tried) that a change would 
dispel the heaviness that seemed to weigh 
down my dear young mistress, as dew-drops 
do a rose. Among other things in the letter- 
bag, that my master received once a month 
from London, was that mighty organ of good 
and evil tidings, — " The Times." Business 
letters were opened by my master, and letters 
from friends by Mrs. Vandelour ; and 
although there were dozens of neat little 
notes, in as many neat little handwritings, for 
Miss Emily — yet she opened none of them. 
She merely put them all into her little basket, 
and ran up-stairs with them into her own 
room ; so quickly that I had scarcely time to 
get in before she closed the door. 

She had learned from a letter received 
from the Major, during our stay at Rome, 
that he had arrived safe and well, and that 
he was about to join in the Affghan war. 
She had also since heard it rumored that 
the English arms had been victorious ; and 
being naturally anxious to read the account, 
she had taken the paper, doubting not that 
honorable mention would be made of the 
Major. "Why" did Mr. Vandelour so 
eagerly peruse his business correspondence, 
and Mrs. V. even trivial notes on the London 
season ? My sweet young mistress read, 
word for word, the columns headed " India, — 
success of the British arms," &c, and aloud 
(although I was the only living thing pre- 
sent) when she came to the following : " When 
the swarthy warriors made a stand, desperate 
as the tiger when at bay, their cannon 
vomiting forth storms of iron hail, Major 
Broadsword led on the gallant Thirteenth to 
the charge, and, sword in hand, encountered 
and slew the chieftain of this iron-knit band ; 
putting the rest to flight, and remaining 
master of the field." 

Had she stopped here, all would perhaps 



have been well, and she would (for that day 
at least) have been most happy ; but she 
read on. Her voice suddenly became lower, 
so low that I could scarcely hear her speak. 
And yet I saw her lips move, and her hands 
tremble. She rose, as if to go down-stairs ; 
but before reaching the door, fell insensible 
upon the floor. I ran to her face, and barked 
as loud as 1 could, in the hope of rousing 
her. While so doing, my master and mistress 
came rushing into the room, to see what it 
was had caused such a noise. It was caused 
by her fall. 

A doctor was sent for, and came with all 
speed ; but ere he arrived, mortal had become 
immortal. Miss Emily's spirit had departed. 
She was gone where " the wicked cease from 
troubling, and the weary are at rest," — dying 
with his name upon her lips. The real cause 
was not guessed at, until I ran from the 
couch to the newspaper that lay where she 
fell. Mrs. Vandelour noticing me, took up 
the paper, and read, — " In following up his 
victory, the Major fell covered with wounds 
and honor, a bullet having passed through 
his heart." With the " dear remains" we 
came to England again ; and in due course 
my poor young mistress was buried. No 
doubt with all the pomp and ceremony usual 
for persons moving in her station in life ; but 
this I cannot speak positively about, as I 
was not permitted to be present. She lies 
at Kensall-Green. 

It was now the height of summer ; and 
much I longed for my sweet lost mistress, 
and the nice long rambles over the fields 
about the little village of West End, where 
we (i.e., the Major, Miss Emily, and I) used 
often to spend hours in the cool of the 
evening. Only one summer since ! 

But I must not leave my story to enlarge 
on all, or even a thousandth part of the 
thoughts that at this moment present them- 
selves. One of the veterinarians who had 
been called in to Neptune, was asked his 
opinion and advice about me, and what must 
be done to prevent me gnawing and tear- 
ing everything that I came near ; also why 
it was my breath was offensive. He said I 
must be "wormed;" and that this would 
cure me of my propensity for nibbling, and 
also ward off fits ; and to sweeten my breath, 
he ordered that I should have no animal food 
of any kind, but be wholly fed on biscuits, 
buns, &c. The biscuit diet was put in prac- 
tice directly, and the next day I began on 
" Huntley and Palmer's Pic Nics ; " but at 
dinner-time could not help crying for a bit 
of the glorious roast leg of mutton that hissed 
on the table, when I was told that my doctor 
had said I was not to have any ; it was not 
good for me. 

My doctor ? No ! He never said any such 
thing ; but on hearing of it, gave instructions 

that u I should have a little of any roast meat 
once every day ; and if I required food twice 
in a day, then I was to have a biscuit, — not 
a sugared one, but a good, plain, and whole- 
some captains 1 biscuit." You know how we 
dogs express our joy. Mine, I fear, was 
boisterous, since I was reproved fOr barking 
so. It was after dinner when he told Mrs. 
Vandelour this ; when I had turned away 
almost choked at the sight of the diamonds 
and circles placed for my meal, and after I 
had cried for a bit of meat from the table. 

A plate of meat was instantly ordered, that 
my doctor might say what was the proper 
quantity to be given at a meal. Half was 
taken away, and the plate put down to me. 
That I ate it with so much zest, seemed to 
surprise my mistress, as I had turned away of 
late from my usual dinner without touching 
it. But my doctor said that " in feeding, as 
in keeping animals of whatever denomination, 
nature should be followed as nearly as pos- 
sible ; and that the teeth of a dog were car- 
nivorous or flesh-tearing (not biscuit-crush- 
ing), and the digestive organs short, com- 
pared with herbivorous (grass-eating) animals, 
or omnivorous (eaters of all things) ; thereby 
proving that they were intended to live on 
food easily and quickly converted into blood. 
But that as nature was not followed in the 
keeping, so the feeding might digress from 
nature's rule in part, and biscuit form one 
meal out of the two ; or they might be given 
conjointly." " But," he said, " the system of 
feeding wholly on biscuits is very injurious ; 
since it renders the blood poor, the skin 
harsh, and liable to diseases of many kinds, 
at the same sime that it confines the bowels, 
and makes it necessary to give biscuits with 
one hand and pills with the other, — thus 
turning the poor dog's inside into a walking 
repository for damaged flour and medicine." 

About the " worming," I will tell you by- 
and-bye ; but my interpreter, the dog's own 
friend — my dear doctor, is now so busy with 
his numerous little and large patients, that 
he declares it is impossible to hold the pen 
for me any longer. So let me remain, 

Jan. 15, 1854. 

Yours, as ever, 



If there he one hour, which more 
Than any other craves a parent's presence, 
'Tis that which gives his child away from him ! 
She should go with his blessing warm upon her, 

With an attesting kiss ; then may she go 
With perfect hope, and cheerly take with her 
The benisons of all kind wishers else. 

Sheridan Knowles. 





A noble opportunity was recently 
afforded us for inspecting this noble vessel, 
whilst in the East India Docks'; and not long 
previous to her steaming to Southampton. 
A finer sight could not be conceived. Every- 
thing, from first to last, — from stem to stern, 
was on a most princely scale ; and as regards 
comfort, nothing appeared to be wanting 
- that the most fastidious person could desire. 
There was a degree of " finish" about the 
workmanship which proved that money was 
no consideration. 

Then there were elegancies out of number, 
— amongst which we observed, at the remote 
end of the saloon, a handsome pianoforte. 
But it is quite needless to particularise 
further; where all the arrangements might 
justly be pronounced perfect. The kitchen, 
bakery, store-rooms, &c.,were alone worth a 
visit. Everything was so complete ! 

We had prepared a long article about the 
" Himalaya," for insertion in our last ; but 
want of space prevented its admission. We 
therefore now content ourself N with the par- 
ticulars given of its arrival at Southampton 
(taken from the Hants Advertiser of January 
14), in which are contained many minutice of 
great public interest. 

The Peninsular and Oriental Company's screw- 
steamer, " Himalaya," arrived at Southampton 
yesterday (Friday, Jan. 13) from London. She 
left the docks on the day previous, and averaged, 
during her voyage, about 14 miles an hour. 

The Himalaya is the largest ship in the world, 
and is intended for the conveyance of the mails 
between Southampton and Alexandria. A large 
party, consisting of many of the directors and 
other chief persons connected with the Peninsular 
and Oriental Company, with their friends, came 
round to Southampton in the Himalaya. It was 
thick weather yesterday, over Southampton water; 
but about midday, a huge mountainous mass 
emerged from the fog near the dock-buoy, which 
was immediately made out on shore to be the 
Himalaya. She hoisted a signal for the docks, 
and steaming up the Itchen river, entered the 
dock with perfect ease ; and soon came alongside, 
occupying and filling a berth which is usually 
occupied by two large steamers. A large crowd 
of persons assembled in the docks to witness her 

While in the centre of the dock, her huge but 
beautiful proportions could be seen to advantage. 
Although Southampton people are accustomed to 
see monster steamers, the amazing length and 
bulk of the Himalaya struck every one with 
surprise. She is ship-rigged, but not heavily so ; 
and she drew 15 feet of water forward, and 18 
feet aft. Of course she is light now ; but when 
she is heavily laden and deeper in the water, the 
fineness of her lines will be more conspicuous than 
at present. On stepping on board, her vastness 
was again evident. She has a flush deck, and 
is, moreover, nearly as long as Bernard Street 

(a well-known street in Southampton), which has 
on one side of it 22 three-storied houses with 
spacious shops. Her width is as great as many 
a large metropolitan street. Her depth is enor- 
mous. The funnel is 24 ieet in circumference, 
and is scarcely noticed on the deck. A person 
at one end of the deck hallooing ever so loud 
could not be heard distinctly at the other end.* 
Relays of officers will communicate the orders of 
the commander to either end of the ship. On the 
platform where the commander is stationed, there 
are a series of bells to communicate with the 
engine department. 

On the Himalaya entering Southampton Water, 
— Calshot Castle, the ancient defence of that en- 
trance, and the Solent, looked like a molehill when 
contrasted with the steamer. They could have 
been stowed away — guns, artillery, men, and all 
— in her hold. Nearly 200 passengers' berths are 
on board of her, 150 of which are first-class, with 
rooms as large as those at some hotels ; 200 
persons can dine luxuriously in the saloon. The 
fittings-up of the steamer are superb, and the 
uphclstery work is most expensive. 

All the curtains cost three guineas a yard, and 
the damask five guineas. The ladies' saloon is 
a large, elegant, and commodious apartment, 
with servants' room and bath room adjoining. 

The Himalaya is an iron ship, built by Mare, 
and cost about £150,000. She would have cost 
much more, had she been built of wood. The 
engines are by Penn, and are the direct acting 
trunk engines, such as were fitted into some of 
the screw line-of-battle ships, — the Agamemnon, 
for instance. They work beautifully, and will 
give immense speed. The Himalaya will bring 
Gibraltar within three days' distance, Malta six 
days, and Egypt nine days. She would take 
2,000 soldiers a distance as far as the Cape of 
Good Hope in about three weeks, and 2,000 emi- 
grants to America in a week. This magnificent 
vessel is as yet the crowning effort of a princely 
enterprise. The appearance and success of such 
a colossal steamer has been foretold, but never 
before realised. There can be no doubt now that 
the great oceans will be bridged over by steamers 
like the Himalaya, ere long. At present, how- 
ever, she is one of the wonders of the world. 

We might greatly enlarge upon the fore- 
going, and still keep within the confines of 
truth. However, enough has been said to 
afford a very fair idea of the liberality shown 
in fitting up this "palace of the great deep." 
We only wish we were going out with a 
snug party on the maiden voyage. It would 
be " delightful." 

* Some idea may be formed of the gigantic 
propoi'tions of this ship by the following fact. A 
person on board walking completely round it seven 
times, will have been over one mile of ground. — 
Ed. K. J. 


If we would have our children to excel, we 
should see that the exercises of the body and those 
of the mind, serve always as a recreation, — the 
one to the other. 


JANUARY, 1854. 

Tin: papers have all been so eloquent 
upon the ever-memorable snow-storm of 
Jan. 3rd and 4th, that WE need not do much 
more than record the great fact. We are all 
too practically well acquainted with its " con- 
sequences," to desire to go very minutely 
into detail. 

The stoppage of the rails all over the king- 
dom' — the state of the London streets — the 
extortion of omnibus proprietors and cab- 
masters, &c. — all live actively in our memory. 
It is long since we had an " Old English 
Winter;" and perhaps some of us will not 
pray for such another specimen ! 

Connected with the heavy fall of snow, 
one thing surprised us excessively ; and that 
was, the apathy of the London tradesmen as 
to its removal from before their doors. Nor 
did any one lend a hand to render the streets 
passable. A very few shillings collected 
among the neighboring tradesmen, would 
have set all straight in a few short hours, all 
over London ; and made the high- ways and 
by-ways fordable. But no ! All the world 
seemed astonished — frozen up — indifferent — 
morbidly inactive. The poor were unem- 
ployed, and did nothing but grumble (as 
usual) — business was a misnomer — boys " cut 
out " slides on the pavement, whilst the 
policemen looked on and grinned at them — 
old people fell down, damaged their shins, or 
broke their bones — and accidents of the most 
fearful kinds were of common occurrence. 
Nobody, however, seemed to care ; nor to take 
any steps to remedy the existing evils. This 
is a startling and very curious fact. 

We suffered among the rest. The Ham- 
mersmith and Bayswater omnibuses either 
asked such enormous fares that nobody would 
give them ; or they sulkily refused to come 
out at all. This has caused us many a long 
sloppy walk, night and morning ; and, by 
consequence, a constant succession of colds, 
coughs, &c. 

These worthies have since tried to keep 
up their high fares ; but they find their mis- 
take. The public have learnt, during the 
snow, that walking is " good" for them ; and 
now the omnibuses run to and fro compara- 
tively empty. If people would only hold 
together, and agree to walk, — coach, cab, and 
omnibus proprietors would soon be brought 
to their senses. But John Bull is an idiot. 
He grumbles, — but still pays. Hence the 
frequent attempts — seldom unsuccessful — to 
pick his pocket. 

Here let us record the whimsical com- 
ment of a London correspondent, on the 
appearance of our " great city" during the 
snow. It has reference to the week com- 
mencing Jan. 3rd, and ending Jan. 10th : — 

Mont Blanc. Bah! Talk to us of the ascent 
and descent of Holborn-hill. We have all of us 
been performing exploits within the last week, 
compared with which the ascent of Mont Blanc 
is a trifle. The only difference was, that you had 
not a dozen stout guides to help you ; nor any 
provision of cold fowls, champagne, and brandy 
flasks ; and when you achieved the perilous 
crossing of a street, or safely traversed the 
mauvais pas of a slide on the footpath, you did 
not halt and give three cheers, or drink the 
Queen's health in a bumper. You were, indeed, 
all unconscious of your heroism, though fully 
sensible of your hardships. 

London on Wednesday, January 4th, was Mont 
Blanc ; and a good bit over, taken horizontally. 
The footway was a figure of speech. There was 
literally no footway, and what had been a footway 
was bound by a long Alpine chain of snow; with 
here and there narrow gorges, through which the 
adventurous traveller penetrated to what once 
was a road, but which had become a confused 
mass of snow. Avalanches came thundering 
down from the house-tops. You could hardly 
recognise the familiar town. Its features were 
all changed ; and it was so hoarse with cold, you 
could not hear its voice. Its noisy rumblings 
were all silenced, its busy throngs thinned to a 
shivering, stumbling, staggering pedestrian here 
and there. You might as well look for a rose 
in bloom as for a cab ; a friend in need was not 
more rare. 

Now and then an omnibus loomed in the dis- 
tance ; ploughing along, pitching and sending 
like a ship in a chopping sea. Their very pro- 
gress, as Leigh Hunt says of pigs, was a kind of 
sticking. Nothing, indeed, advanced but the 
fares, which rose to the full height of Mont 
Blanc. The rise marks the height of the public 
distress. But other evidences were not wanting. 
The town was like the sea shore after a storm, 
strewed with wrecks and stranded craft. Aban- 
doned carts and w T agons were to be seen embedded 
in the snow. The news from the railroads is 
only of fast trains ; that is to say, of trains fast 
set in the drifts. Nothing is now fast in any 
other sense, except in the instance of those im- 
proper persons who are both fast and loose. It is 
too obvious that the war has commenced, and that 
we are already invaded by the climate of Russia. 
The foe is^not only at our gates, but at our fingers' 
ends ; and what is most insulting, taking us by 
the nose. And, in the midst of these suffer- 
ings, you are, in aggravation, offered the compli- 
ments of the season ! Pretty compliments ! and 
provoking past all endurance it is to hear a man 
with his nose blue, his fingers frozen, and his feet 
slipping at every step, talk of " fine seasonable 
weather," — an expression reserved for these 
bitter occasions, and never heard on a fine balmy 
summer's day, when nothing but murmurs against 
the heat are uttered. 

This frost has had only one parallel within our 
time ; and we need hardly add we are as old as 
Methuselah. We allude to the winter of Napo- 
leon's Russian retreat. The frost was then, as 
also in the present instance, preceded by fog; 
but both of greater density and duration. It 
lasted three weeks, with only partial breaks. 
Then down came the snow, which drifted to the 


depth of six feet in some of the streets. The 
Thames was frozen over, and a fair held on it. 
The state of the streets was not then, however, 
nearly so bad as now ; and we have never seen 
anything so desolate and dreary as the aspect of 
the town on Wednesday. The effect has been 
likened to the cab strike ; but nature's look-out 
far surpasses the other strike in inconveniences. 
The cab strike, after all, left us our legs, but the 
slippery snow of Wednesday made them too often 
perform the revolutionary exploit of bringing the 
head clown to the same level. 

For many hours, London was in a state of 
blockade ; having little communication within, 
and none externally. To pass from Pall Mall to 
Oxford-street has been an expedition requiring no 
small nerve and resolution ; and many an adven- 
ture might be written from one not very distant 
part of the town to another. Little indeed do the 
mariners of England, who live so much at ease in 
the Turkish waters, dream of the perils besetting 
the hardy passenger in the streets of London, in 
this Russian winter. The idea of red-hot shot is 
rather pleasing than otherwise, to the imagination 
just saluted with a snow-ball ; and the inhabitant 
of this city, in a state of wintry siege, envies the 
warriors in the peaceful occupation of the Bos- 

So much for London in the snow. The 
accounts from the country are equally curious 
of their kind. Of the many disasters occa- 
sioned by this severe visitation, we would 
fain keep silence. Wind, storm, snow, and 
tempest, have laid thousands upon thousands 
prostrate. They have sunk to rise no more. 
We live to ruminate upon their destruction. 
" Such is life!" 


The grand winter show took place at 
the Baker-street Bazaar, on Tuesday, Janu- 
ary 10th ; and was, beyond all dispute, the 
best we have yet had. 

The rooms were very well arranged, all 
things considered ; and the animals exhibited 
were for the most part displayed to advan- 
tage. We were quite pleased to see so much 
11 good" company present on the opening 
day; and to note the interest taken in a 
careful examination of the birds. 

The Cochin China mania has, we are glad 
to see, very greatly subsided. Of this class, 
there were some remarkably fine specimens ; 
and we should say "healthy" ones, — for 
when the cocks opened their ungainly 
mouths to crow, the sound thereof might 
have been heard at a distance very remote 
indeed ! The prices affixed to these gawky 
birds, some of them at least, were low enough 
in all conscience ; but the fact is, it is now 
ascertained that the cost of their food (they 
eat enormously), set against the produce of 
their eggs, is such as to render their " value" 
problematical. They eat their heads off ! 

The snow storm no doubt prevented many 

breeders sending up their birds ; but there 
was nevertheless a goodly collection. There 
were 1,139 entries of poultry, 425 pens of 
pigeons, and 50 pens of rabbits, — making a 
total of 1614 competing pens. 

The Dorkings (our special favorites) came 
out among the Cochins in the finest possible 
relief. What noble specimens were here 
exhibited ! For a cock and two hens there 
were 27 entries. The prizes went to the 
Rev. Mr. Boyes, Mrs. Finch Noyes, and Mr. 
W. Smith. In the sixth class, for a cock 
and two pullets, were 48 pens, many of them 
of great merit. The difference in the prize 
pens was but trifling, but they were taken as 
follows :— Mr Smith, Mr. Terry, and Mr. 
Boyes. The next was the competition con- 
fined to cocks only ; and here both prizes 
were gained by Mr. Fisher Hobbs. A pen 
of this gentleman's birds was purchased for 
his Royal Highness Prince Albert. Those 
for hens, were awarded to the Rev. J. Boyes 
and Mr. Bleabington. 

We were delighted to find our opinion of 
these birds strongly confirmed by the best 
practical judges among the visitors. They 
are, doubtless, " profitable" in every point of 
tiew • whilst the Cochins are hideous to look 
at, and a perfect nuisance to all the neighbors 
near whom they dwell. 

The gold and silver-pencilled and spangled 
Hamburghs were some of them beautiful 
creatures. The Sebright Bantams were only 
passable, — with one or two exceptions. We 
have bred many infinitely superior. The 
game fowl were indeed noble animals, — quite 
up to the mark. The Spanish too, were 
better grown than ever we saw them, and in 
rude health. But all the feathered tribe 
were (on the opening day) in the finest con- 
dition. We saw them subsequently, how- 
ever, when many of them were in a pitiable 
plight ; such close confinement had shortened 
the lives of a considerable number. They 
were not worth the trouble of removal. 

The pigeons deserve our very best word. 
There was a princely collection of them, — 
many sent in by the " Philo-Peristeron 
Society." Among these were, of course, the 
very celebrated pouters of Mr. Bult, of 
Hornsey. What a superb carriage have 
these most redoubtable birds ! The won- 
der of the world are they, of their kind. 
They were the theme of general admiration. 
But so indeed were many others among this 
select association. The almond tumblers, 
too, fascinated many a pretty face, and a 
tender heart — as the fair owner passed by ; 
and we dwelt long on the spot to listen to 
the amiable conversation that these choice 
little feathered pets drew forth. Nor did we 
fail to join in it. We were quite " at home " 
among these pleasures of our youth. 

The rabbits too are entitled to honorable 



mention. There were among them some 
fine specimens. We must also accord our 
praise to the geese and turkeys, which 
were in fine condition. 

On the whole, this exhibition ranks high. 
Competition is evidently putting breeders on 
their mettle ; and every season will add to 
the real value of the animals shown. 

We were exceedingly pleased to observe 
the interest excited among the visitors, male 
and female, at the earlier part of the ex- 
hibition. Women are now beginning to see 
that these things are not so contemptible ; 
and that a love of nature may be cultivated 
without a loss either of time or money. 

Oh, if we could but kick fashion, and a 
love of finery, out of this country ; and let the 
heart be studied before the outward person — 
what a happy people we should be ! But as 
this never will be the case, let us be thankful 
for any (the smallest) instalment towards 
" the consummation so devoutly to be 

If to breed animals, and show them, be a 
" fashion 1 ' among our women, — may the 
fashion ever prevail ! It will tend to 
soften their hearts homceopathically ; and 
cannot but effect some good. 


We find in a late number of the " Zoolo- 
gist," a few curious Notes on the Tench and 
Pike. They are from the pen and obser- 
vation of W. H. Slaney, Esq., of Hatton 
Hall. They are as follows : — 

It is generally considered amongst keepers and 
fishermen, that the tench is a fish which all others 
of a voracious nature — such as pike, perch, trout, 
and eels, equally avoid feeding on ; and the reason 
given is, that the slime of the former possesses a 
healing quality of which other kinds of fish are 
aware ; and that, when wounded or ill, they resort 
to this physician of the waters, and, by rubbing 
themselves against the tench, extract a remedy 
for their ailments; for which, instead of paying any 
fee, they all agree in considering the former so 
great a benefactor that it ought to go free, and be 
protected from all harm. How far it becomes one 
to doubt the truth of this belief, it is unnecessaiy 
to state ; but I may be excused in relating the fol- 
lowing circumstance which I witnessed a few days 
since, and leave the conclusion to be drawn from 
it to others, as to the sentiments imputed to the 
other kinds of fish in abstaining from feeding on 
the tench. In a pit or small pool at the back of 
the house, it is the custom to put such fish of 
different kinds as are likely to be wanted for the 
table during the summer, and consequently there 
is a pretty good store of fish kept in the pit ; 
amongst which are some carp, and many good 
tench, varying from 1 to 4 lbs. in weight; and 
there are also a few pike put with them, of from 
4 to 9 lbs., as well as some perch, and but a few 
roach, for the pike to feed on. 

These different kinds of fish can be easily seen 
swimming about in the clear water ; and the loud 
splash of the pike indicates that he has seized 
some victim, and brought it to an untimely end. 
The other day I saw, at some distance from the 
side of the pit, and deep in the water, a bright 
shining substance slowly moving about, and which 
I could by no means satisfactorily make out ; but 
after watching it for some considerable time, and 
endeavoring to discover its nature, I at last per- 
ceived that across the middle portion projected a 
dark band, looking as if it were fastened to it and 
pushing it along : and this turned out to be the 
head of a large pike. The latter, having seized a 
tench of about 3 lbs. weight, crossways, which it 
was totally unable to swallow, was gently swim- 
ing about with its head somewhat elevated and 
its tail sunk lower in the water ; vainly endea- 
voring to get the tench down its throat, or to twist 
it round so that the head of the tench might the 
more easily lead the way for the rest of its body 
further into the capacious jaws of its captor ; but 
this could not be effected. The latter therefore 
continued to carry its prize slowly about the pit, 
as a dog would a bone. 

After watching the two fish for some time while 
engaged in this way, I saw the pike approach the 
side of the pond ; and the keeper, happening to be 
near at hand, brought a casting-net and threw 
over both ; but unfortunately a bough in the water 
kept the net from closing, so that the two fish 
escaped, and were afterwards seen in the pit still 
in the same position as before, the pike retaining 
a firm hold of the physician. At last, however, I 
thought I perceived the latter freed from the te- 
nacious grasp of the pike, who probably finding it 
impossible to devour so large a prize, let it go free, 
and the tench, no doubt, rejoicing at its timely 
escape, considered the attack of its foe a most un- 
grateful return for favors conferred. 

This is the only instance I ever met with in 
which the tench was attacked by any other fish ; 
though I have constantly had them put, together 
with pike and perch, in small stews and other 
places, where the absence of food for the predatory 
species has induced them to seize upon almost 
every other living thing : all other kinds of fish, 
rats, young ducks, and moor-hens, have fallen a 
sacrifice to the all-devouring pike, but not the 
tench ; and keepers always avoid setting their 
trimmers or trolling for pike with a tench for a 
bait, alleging as a reason that no other fish will 
touch it. 


Thou liv'st ! yet how profoundly deep 
The silence of thy tranquil sleep ! 

Like death it almost seems ; 
So all unbroke the sighs which flow 
From thy calm breast of spotless snow,- 

Like music heard in dreams ! 

Thy soul is filled with gentle thought, 
Unto its shrine by angels brought 

From Heaven's supreme abode ; 
Thy dreams are not of earthly things, 
But borne upon Religion's wings 

They lift thee up to God ! 




The spider's most attenuated thread 

Is eoi d, is cable, when compared with that 

On which at times Man's destiny depends. 


author, that " the loveliest thing 
in life is the mind of a young child." 

I jw ^ e most sensitive thing, he might 
'■ y vS have added, is the heart of a young- 
artist. Hiding in his bosom a veiled 
and unspeakable beauty, the in- 
spired neophyte shrinks from contact with 
the actual, to lose himself in delicious reveries 
of an ideal world. In those enchanted re- 
gions, the great and powerful of the earth ; 
the warrior statesmen of the Elizabethan era ; 
the steel-clad warriors of the mediaeval ; gor- 
geous cathedrals, and the luxuriant pomp of 
prelates, who had princes for their vassals ; 
courts of fabled and forgotten kings ; and, in 
the deepening gloom of antiquity, the nude 
Briton and the painted Pict — all pass before 
his enraptured eyes. 

Women, beautiful creations ! warm with 
breathing life, yet spiritual as angels, hover 
around him. Elysian landscapes are in the 
distance ; but ever arresting his steps — cold 
and spectral in his path — stretches forth the 
rude hand of Reality. Is it surprising that 
the petty miseries of life weigh down his 
spirit ? Yet the trembling magnet does not 
seek the north with more unerring fidelity 
than that " soft sentient thing," the artist's 
heart, still directs itself amid every calamity, 
and in every situation, towards its cynosure 
— perfection of the beautiful. The law 
which guides the planets attracts the one. 
The other is influenced by the Divine mys- 
tery which called the Universe itself into 
being; that sole attribute of genius — cre- 

Few artists escape those minor evils which 
are almost a necessary consequence in an 
exquisitely sympathetic organisation. For- 
tunately these are but transient, — often 
requisite ; bringing forth hidden faculties and 
deeper feelings, which else might have laid 
dormant. But iterated disappointments will 
wear even into a soul of iron ; sadly I write 
it, — there have been such instances. 

True and touching is the tale 1 have to tell ; 
although it relates to an early period : — 

" its only charm, in sooth, 

If any, will be sad and simple truth." 

In one of those little villages in the north 
of England which still preserve the antiquated 
pastimes of bygone times, there lived, about a 
century ago, a young artist by the name of 
Sfanfield. A small freehold estate barely 
sufficed to support himself and his aged grand- 
mother. They resided in a cottage entirely 
by themselves, and as he was an orphan and 

an only child, I need not say how dear he 
was to that poor old heart. The border 
ballads she would sit crooning to him on 
long winter nights, had been as eloquent to 
him as a mythology ; and many a " Douglas 
and Percie," — many ah exploit of "Johnnie 
Armstrong." " Laidlaw," and "Elliott," 
adorned the walls of the cottage ; depicted, 
it is true, with rude materials and implements, 
but sufficiently striking to excite the admira- 
tion of the villagers, who wondered, not so 
much at the manner in which the sketches 
were executed, as at the fact that such things 
could be done at all. 

A beautiful rural landscape surrounded 
their home, and a view of the Solway, the 
Irish Sea, and the distant coast of Scotland, 
doubtless had its effect upon the mind of the 
young painter. Many were the gossipings, 
during his absence from the cottage, over 
these early productions of his pencil ; and 
dear to his aged grandmother were the rude 
praises bestowed upon them by her rustic 

At last the squire called upon him. The 
meeting was delightful to both. The enthu- 
siasm and innate refinement of the young 
man — the delicate taste, simplicity, and 
manly benevolence of the squire, were mutu- 
ally attractive. A commission to paint a 
picture was given to Stanfield ; and a large 
apartment in the manor hall was appropriated 
to his use. You may be sure he was untiring 
in his efforts now. Room to paint — materials 
to use — studies on every side — patronage to 
reward — happy artist ! 

Nor was the want of sweet companionship 
felt by him. At times a lovely face startled 
him at his doorway. Sometimes music, ' ; both 
of instrument and singing," floated up the 
broad staircase. Sometimes he found a chance 
handful of flowers resting upon his palette. 
A golden-haired, blue-eyed vision haunted 
his dreams ; waking or sleeping. Happy, 
happy artist ! The squire had an only 
daughter. Her name was Blanche. The 
picture was at last completed. 

* * * 

It so happened that the great Sir Joshua 
Reynolds at this time paid the squire a visit. 
Ah ! that young heart throbbed then, — not 
less with dread than joy. No doubt it was a 
crude production, tiiat picture. But youth, 
with all its misgivings, is full of hope; and 
the young artist, in spite of the wise admo 
nitions of his patron, insisted upon concealing 
himself behind the canvas, that he might 
hear the candid opinion of the great painter. 
It is scarcely necessary to refer to the fact 
that Sir Joshua was deaf, and his voice in 
consequence had that sharpness usual in 
persons so affected. 

The expected day arrived. The squire and 
his guests stood before the picture. A sweet 

Vol. V.— 4. 



voice, like a thread of gold, sometimes min- 
gled with the praises of the rest. At last Sir 
Joshua spoke. Stanfield listened intently. 
He heard his picture condemned. Still lie 
listened, his heart beating against his side 
almost audibly. There might be some 
redeeming points ! Like an i exorable judge, 
the old painter heaped objection upon objec- 
tion ; and that, too, in tones, it seemed, of 
peculiar asperity. Poor Stanfield felt as if 
the icy hand of death were laid upon his 
heart ; and then, with a sickening shudder, 
fell senseless upon the floor. 

They raised him — he recovered — was re- 
stored to life ; but what was life to him? 

From that time he drooped daily. At 
last, his kind patron sent him to Rome. 
There, amid the eternal monuments of art, — 
avoiding all companions, immured in his little 
studio, he busied himself steadily, but feebly, 
with a work which proved to be his last. 

It represented a precipitous cliff, to the 
brink of which a little child had crept. One 
tiny hand stretched out over the abyss ; and 
its baby face was turned, with a smile, to- 
wards its mother, from whose arms it had 
evidently just escaped. That playful look 
was a challenge for her to advance ; and she, 
poor mother! with that deep, dumb despair in 
her face, saw the heedless innocent just poised 
upon the brink, — beyond her reach ; and 
knew that if she moved towards it a single 
step it too would move — to certain death. But 
with Heaven-taught instinct, she had torn 
the drapery from her breast, and exposed the 
sweet fountain of life to her infant. Spite of 
its peril, you felt it would be saved. 

Such was the picture ! Day after day, 
when the artists, his friends, gathered at 
their customary meals, his poor, pale face 
was seen among them, — listless, without a 
smile ; and seemingly wistful of the end, 
when he might retire again to his secluded 
studio. One day he was missing. The 
second followed ; but he came not. The 
third arrived, — still absent. A presentiment 
of his fate seemed to have infused itself in 
every mind. They went to his room. There, 
seated in a chair before his unfinished picture, 
they found him dead — his pencil in his hand. 


Come then, — a Song ! A winding, gentle song, 
To lead me into sleep. Let it be low 
As Zephyr, telling secrets to his Rose ; 
For I would hear the murmuring of my thoughts, 
And more of voice, than of that other music 
Which grows around the strings of quivering lutes. 
But most of Thought. 'Tis with my mind I listen ; 
And when the leaves of sound are shed upon it, 
If there is no sound, remembrance grows not there. 
So Life; so Death, — a song, and then a dream ! 
Come, — sing; before another dew-drop fall. 



Ckeation will he incomplete, 

Never will it reach perfection, 
"While the poor from rich men meet 

Cold and feelingless rejection. 
Nature's aim will ne'er be gained, 

Till each practise with his brother 
The law by God himself ordained, — 

" Love and cherish one another! " 

Heart with heart must join in peace, 

Envious state must disappear; 
War and tumult then will cease 

To rack the human breast with fear: 
Pride must he dismissed the soul, 

Man all angry feelings smother ; 
And these words his heart control, — 

"Love and cherish one another ! " 

And unanimity must reign 

Both in the palace and the cot ; — 
It will not govern men in vain, 

For 'tis by mutual love begot. 
Nature to her children cries, 
(Oh ! obey the general mother,) 
" Men, the law of Heaven prize, — 
Love and cherish one another ! " 

F. N. 



There is, if we err not, a statute (or a 
clause in a statute), against throwing snow- 
balls. A great tyranny this ; albeit the 
public wrong may have hitherto escaped the 
indignation of the patriotic. Painful is it for 
the philanthropic and benevolent mind to 
reflect upon the misdoings of lawgivers ! To 
consider their ignorance, their persevering 
waste of golden time, their stubborn, stiff- 
necked despotism ! They, in. the hopeless 
hebetude of what they deem their souls, 
consider snow as merely a natural substance, 
ordained to do a certain good to the earth 
that feeds us ; being altogether unmindful 
of its moral uses. 

Now, — snow was made to be rolled into 
balls : the best instincts of our nature prove 
it. True it is, that as we grow older we 
lose somewhat of that ecstatic zest which, in 
the days of boyhood, made us rejoice in 
snow-balls. Nevertheless, we cannot wholly 
subdue the best impulses of our being. No ! 
Sure we are that all men — at least all not 
wholly lost to natural promptings — do, in 
some hilarious moments, feel a strong and 
almost invincible desire to snow-ball their 
fellow-creatures.* The impulse may now 
and then lie dormant ; but very sure we are 
it exists in the large heart of the human kind. 

* In evidence whereof, we refer to the late 
extraordinary gamhols on the Liverpool Stock 
Exchange. — Ed. K. J. 



The man who — even at threescore — has not 
on some cheerful occasion, at some golden 
moment, yearned to throw a snow-ball, is 
utterly dead to one of the purest enjoyments 
of life. Such a man would not pluck a rose, 
nor gather a peach. 

The law of the land, however, does not 
recognise this universal impulse of our being. 
Nay, it will not even wink at the offence; 
though often prone to fall fast asleep and 
snore lustily over greater evils. The law of 
the land puts a price upon snow-balls, selling 
them at not less than tive shillings a-piece. 
We believe such to be the statute. We do 
not pride ourselves upon a very subtle 
knowledge of the laws, having always con- 
sidered such knowledge as a very suspicious 
possession. Many folks study the laws as 
certain misdoers study the wires of spring- 
guns, — that they may still do wrong, and yet 
safely avoid them. We think, however, that 
Parliament sells snow-balls at five shillings 

One snow-ball for — five shillings. 

Well ; it is dear. But then, Madam Law 
was ever costly. Otherwise, how could she 
maintain her swarm of lackeys ; her many 
gentlemen of the chamber; her scores of 
snoring porters, seated on softest cushions, 
stuffed with fees? 

One snow-ball for — five shillings ! 

It is no matter. There are times when, 
not to enjoy the luxury of the season — be it 
what it may — is to be dead to the beauties 
of this beautiful world. We feel our mouth 
water at the first compassable strawberries. 
They are dear. We know they are dear. 
Their costliness gives to them the luscious- 
ness of forbidden fruit — of fruit forbidden to 
the pocket. And, therefore, shutting our 
eyes to the expense, we twitch out our purse, 
and dearly pay for the sweet temptation. 
Nevertheless, we eat, are filled, and feel no 
remorse. On the contrary, if our mind be in 
proper harmony, we feel that, as rational 
creatures, we have only rendered rightful 
sacrifice to the genius of the season. 

Green peas — asparagus — early potatoes — 
seem also expressly sent to dally with the 
heart and pocket of man, and finally to 
subdue the sneaking economy that may 
commonly lodge within him. The man may 
be (what the world calls) a " good husband" 
— a kind father — a respectable friend. Yes ; 
he may be all this, yet if he have not — for 
the especial delectation of the dear creature 
at the fireside — sometimes sinned in the face 
of Plutus, appearing at the conjugal hearth 
with some unthought-of dainty — green peas, 
asparagus, or infant potatoes — that man may, 
indeed, according to all ecclesiastical formula?, 
be a husband. Yes ; a church-bound, iron- 
bound husband. Yet, to our mind, does he 
lack the sweetest grace of conjugal life, — the 

[ dignity and heroism of best uxoriousness. 
If, however, he want not these qualities, then 
does he sit him down and sup more daintily 
than Lucullus. He and his wife know the 
dish is dear, — very dear. They have com- 
mitted a sin against household economy ; 
but the sin is sweet, and they fall to and fall 

We flatter ourselves that we know some- 
thing of human nature — quite as much at 
least as the kitten, who, whilst we sit penning 
this essay, knows of the movements of the 
watch, at the chain of which she is jumping. 
And so knowing, we say we have but little 
faith in that man who, in all times, and 
under all temptations, can, with stoic, stony 
grin pass a lobster — a very dear lobster ! 
His heart may not be of the color of the 
fish, — new from its native seas ; but sure we 
are it is not of the beautiful red, investing 
the crustaceous dainty steaming from the 
cook's pot. No, if his heart be of the right 
color, the real humanising hue, he will — 
after some fitful struggle — march boldly up 
to the counter, like a stout soldier to an 
enemy's battery ; and in a twinkling carry 
off the prize, — the dear-bought trophy. He 
will carry it to his homestead proudly, ex- 
ultingly. He will feel that to be sometimes 
extravagant, is to follow a magnificent im- 
pulse — is to act up to one of the unpenned 
chapters of the Whole Duty of Man. Yes ; 
to be at times a lit-tle prodigal, is the lex 
non scripta of our moral being. 

And therefore — seeing the price that is 
put upon them — do we class snow-balls as 
luxuries ; and therefore are we anxious to 
instruct the world in the proper use of the 
seasonable dainty. Now, — listen friends ! 

If, at this season, you meet a man who, 
with crammed larder and bursting cellar at 
home, will give no crumb, no drop, to the 
miserable poor around him, — we then say to 
you, snoiv-ball hint! True, the missile will 
cost you — if detected — five shillings ; but 
think of the season ! Should you not enjoy 

If there be a cold-hearted cousin who, 
with turkey and port on table, has sent not 
even the smallest bit of beef to a poor and 
fasting relative — snoiv-ball him! 

If a landlord, who has torn the last rag 
from a shivering tenant — by all means snow- 
ball him! 

If you meet the shining face of outside 
respectability — the cunning, decorous, well- 
to-do man, who being well-to-do, does only 
well to himself, — the man whose heart, even 
at this season, has in it no more life towards 
others than an addled egg, — pause not, but 
incontinently snowball him ! 

And, in fine, if you fall in with any of the 
hundreds of smirking, easy folks, who think 
themselves Christians, simply because they 



they go to church on Sunday, stick holly on 
their shelves at Christmas, and most reli- 
giously eat plum-pudding ; think not, pause 
not, but — vehemently snow-ball them ! 

Oh, reader — if, indeed, you are the sort of 
reader we desire— you have enjoyed the first 
strawberries of summer, the sweet early pea, 
the tender potato. 

Wherefore then should you not taste the 
luxury of winter ? Why not enj oy your 
snow-ball ? 

Consider this, — if it be found out, it is only 
five shillings ! A. B. 



Much anxiety was felt by certain parties 
about the strength of this building, when the 
late heavy fall of snow took place. It was 
feared that it would be quite unequal to 
sustain the pressure. However, to the 
surprise of all, it has survived the trial, and 
is not apparently much injured by the strain. 
Time will test this. 

The glazing not being properly looked to, 
a considerable quantity of snow and rain 
found its way into the interior ; and portions 
of the flooring and plaster casts ranged near 
the garden front were covered with a thick 
coating of snow. The principal sufferers by 
the inclemency of the weather were the 
plants and exotics, which have been arranged 
in large beds at the southern end of the 
building ; but the influence of the weather 
told upon more than the plants. The works 
were necessarily suspended ; and over 
palace and park a dreary silence reigned. 
This was augmented by the snow wrapping 
every external object. 

A huge mass of scaffolding still fills up the 
entire area of the centre transept ; and, al- 
though a large proportion of the ribs are now 
up, and the glazing at the west end commenced, 
some time will elapse before this, the most 
striking architectural feature of the building, 
can be completed. The internal decorations, 
less affected in their progress by the weather, 
proceed apace. Egypt, Greece, and Rome, 
are now so far advanced as to speak for 
themselves ; and the decorator is concen- 
trating his chief energies towards the resto- 
ration of the Alhambra. Upon the opposite 
side of the nave, Mr. Wyatt is vigorously at 
work. The decoration of the Pompeian 
House is nearly completed; and Mr. Fer- 
guson is making rapid progress with his 
Assyrian Court, which promises to be not the 
least successful part of the palace. Both he 
and Mr. Owen Jones may congratulate 
themselves upon a new arrangement ; the 
i esult of a compromise on a disputed point, 
which may be worth mentioning. 

It was originally, it seems, proposed by 

the latter, as one of the earliest ideas for 
securing great effects within the building, to 
place at the north end of the nave, the 
colossal seated figure of the god R&, with the 
head of which every visitor of the British 
Museum is familiar. This figure, which is 
seventy feet high, and painted in the striking 
colors which give so peculiar a character to 
Egyptian art, would have completely ex- 
tinguished the fine- winged, and human - 
headed bulls with which Mr Ferguson guards 
the main entrance of his Assyrian hall. 

The question, however, was — what was to 
be done? A solid pile of masonry, more than 
thirty feet high had been constructed as the 
seat of the deity. Mr. Jones, having made 
up his mind to have him there, was not to be 
driven from his purpose. The west end of 
the north transept was, however, offered; 
and the privilege of erecting there two gods 
instead of one, with a double row of sphinxes 
leading up to them, provided the site at the 
end of the nave was given up. 

This was too great a temptation to be re- 
fused ; and, accordingly, when in July (for 
it is now ascertained that it cannot be earlier) 
the doors of the Crystal Palace are to be 
thrown open to the public, next to the 
building, and the fountains (surpassing in 
size even Mr. Waterhouse Hawkins's primae- 
val monsters) — the largest objects, and those 
most likely to fill the minds and eyes of the 
Londoners with astonishment, will be these 
two wonderful representations of the scale 
upon which the sculptors of ancient Egypt 
wrought out of the rock the objects of their 
Pagan idolatry. 



Sink, little seed, in the earth's black mould, 
Sink in your grave so wet and so cold, 
There must you lie ; 
Earth I throw over you, 
Darkness must cover you, 
Light comes not nigh. 

What grief you'd tell, if words you could say, 
What grief make known for loss of the day ; 
Sadly you'd speak ; 
" Lie here must I ever ? 
Will the sunlight never 
My dark grave seek ? " 

Have faith, little seed— soon yet again 
Thou'lt rise from the' grave where thou art lain ; 
Thou 'It be so fair, 
With thy green shades so bright, 
And thy flowers so light 
Waving in air. 

So must we sink in the earth's blnck mould, 
Sink in the grave so w T et and so cold, — 
There must we stay, 
Till at last we shall see 
Time to eternity, 
Darkness to day. 


[This department of Our Journal is one of its most 
interesting, as well as valuable features. Amusement, 
instruction, mental improvement, and all the Social 
Virtues, are here concentred. Whether the subjects 
introduced be on Natural History, Popular Science, 
Domes-tic Economy, the Fine Arts, or Matters of General 
Interest, — all are carefully digested, and placed before 
our readers in the winning garb of cheerfulness, good- 
temper, and a determination to please. Our amiable 
correspondents enter readily into our naturally-playful 
disposition, — hence are their contributions divested of 
that dry formality which cannot be other than repulsive 
to a ti ue lover of N ature. Our columns, be it observed, 
are open to all amiable writers.] 

Notes on the Blue-headed Tit-mouse. — Knowing 
what very great favorites (or rather what very 
great little favorites) the blue-caps (Parus cozru- 
leus) are with you and your readers, I record in 
the pages of Our own Journal some of my obser- 
vations on the habits of their race. You are 
quite right as to the situations they generally 
choose for their nests, but there are exceptions to 
be met with. You know the large fir tree on our 
lawn. Well; in that very tree have I found, at 
different times, no fewer than three nests. Master 
Tom did not, however, build in a hole or chink. 
No. In every instance, the nest was immediately 
beneath a branch, — nearly at its extremity. The 
first I espied, made me tremble for its safety. 
The branch on which it was built projected over 
the garden path ; and was so near the ground, 
that the fear of its being discovered caused me 
much anxiety. However, so cunningly was it 
concealed from the view of passers-by, that the 
parents contrived to carry off a " happy little 
family" in perfect safety. The second nest was 
also constructed in this tree ; and fortunately at too 
high an elevation for the cruelty of men and boys 
to reach it. Another " happy family" were 
safely brought out of this snug abode. Pretty 
little creatures ! How rejoiced we all were to 
note the perfect happiness of the papa and 
mamma, whilst their tiny darlings were prac- 
tising all sorts of the most diverting tricks. 
The third nest, I discovered on the 8th of 
August, 1852. I remember it was on the Sunday 
previous to your coming down to us. Had the 
rain not fallen so heavily, it was my intention to 
have called your particular attention to it, whilst 
we were in the garden. How very artfully Master 
Tom had concealed his whereabout ! No stranger 
to his peculiar habits could ever have " wormed 
out" his secret. Oh — no ! But you know 1 am of 
a sex that is naturally " curious ; " and a girl 
not readily to be baffled when my heart is set 
upon any particular object [Quite right, — Puss-y.l 
So, — my suspicion being awakened, I watched 
Master Tom carefully, and fairly dodged him in 
and out of the tree ; till we seemed to understand 
each other. When he knew that he was out- 
witted, — all was quite right. Then did I pre- 
sume on our acquaintance, — or rather friendship. 
Perched upon a table, and provided with a garden- 
rake, I drew gently down a certain branch, 
bearing a lovely burden. What a snug little 
palace was there built upon that branch ! And 
now, — seven beautiful little heads met my gaze, 
— all packed in a space inconceivably small. Of 
course every member of our family wanted a sight ! 
To gratify them, I removed one of the nestlings. 

It was more than half fledged, and could flutter 
to the distance of two or three yards. I then 
carefully replaced it. The best remains to be 
told. Master Tom and his wee wi'ey were 
looking on all the time, — evidently pleased, and 
proud of the notice taken of their children ! I 
imagine the cause of these birds instinctively 
building beneath a branch, to originate in their 
fear of the Magpies, — for whom they entertain 
the greatest aversion ; and at the sight of whom 
they raise a peculiar note or cry of alarm. I 
agree with you, and your correspondents, that 
Master Tom does not build in the laurestinus, 
although he delights in hiding himself among 
their leaves. I shall have some very curious sites 
of nests (chosen during the last season) to show 
you, when you come down again. They will form 
an interesting theme for comment in future num- 
bers of Our Journal. — Puss. 

[Thank you, — Pussy. The little facts you have 
here brought under notice are particularly inter- 
esting. They will doubtless elicit more pleasing 
anecdotes of this garden-pet. We have a host of 
them domesticated with us. The murderous guns 
of our neighbors, right and left, drive them to us 
as to a sanctuary. They instinctively feel they 
are " at home."] 

Snow Pancakes.- — At the present season, when 
eggs are scarce and snow plentiful, I think we 
ought all to try a dish of these cheap luxuries. 
I call them "luxuries," for such they really are. 
Away with eggs ! say I. Snow beats them 
hollow. It is better and cheaper. Experto crede. 
But how are they made ? Listen. Mix your 
batter with the usual quantity of milk and flour ; 
and for each (imagined) egg, put in two table- 
spoonfuls of snow, heaped up, — pyramid fashion. 
Stir the whole well ; and then proceed as in the 
ordinary way. Great care must of course be taken 
in frying them ; and when fried, — only think of the 
treat !— C. F. T. Y. _ 

[Thanks — gentle Sir. Pancakes have ever been 
our delight from infancy, and we have often 
marvelled " why" Shrove Tuesday should not be 
kept all the year round. Well ; it is again near 
at hand ; and let us hope that snow is as near. 
We vow — and our vow is sacred — that the first 
gathering of snow we can collect shall speedily 
be heard hissing in combination with lemon (we 
love lemon), in our domestic frying-pan. We will 
lunch at home, — dine at home, — sup at home ; 
and make our. ; elf a pattern of good-nature the 
livelong day. If the treat be what we anticipate, 
we will gladly "report progress; and ask leave to 
— sit again."] 

More of the Domestic Cat. — " Still harping on 
my daughter ! " Well ; let the truth be told. Out- 
feline friends, among their other short- comings, are 
often too, with justice, taxed with being savage 
murderers of pet birds. Many a cat has hung 
from a branch, or gone over a bridge with a ropo 
and a stone, after being caught crouching beside 
an empty and open cage with fatal yellow feathers 
strewed around ; while in the cases of milder 
masters or mistresses, many a bitter tear has pro- 
bably been shed over the mangled remains of 
"poor Goldy, who would eat out of your hand ; " 
or " poor Bully, who piped so beautifully the 



' Banks and Braes.' " To cure cats of the pro- 
pensity to attack pet birds has always, therefore, 
been a matter of effort ; and a variety of expe- 
dients — such as heating the bars of the cages, and 
burning the cat's nose against them — are more or 
less in request. Some of these are cruel, and none 
of them I believe to be really needful. The first 
thing to be done, to keep cats from birds, is to 
take care that the cats are well fed, and that no 
hungry fit may occasionally prompt a breach of 
moral duties ; the second is to familiarise the two 
classes of creatures, and accustom them to each 
other's presence. Most birds are killed by cats 
with empty stomachs, and by those who have not 
undergone the sort of socialising process which I 
have described. I have seen people drive away 
cats for merely looking at caged birds. This is 
quite a mistaken plan. Unless the passion of 
hunger be roused in the creature, ten to one it is 
only satisfying its curiosity by the mere contem- 
plation of the " little warbler." At all events, in 
my own experience, without any particular 
training, except kind treatment, and often putting 
the cages, with their occupants, on the table for 
the cat's inspection, the creatures appear to have 
got so companionable that I have no scruple in 
leaving some half-dozen birds within the reach of 
three cats. The animals frequently sit and look 
at each other ; and a green parrot, with a great 
talent for biting, has regularly a snap at any 
whisking tail or incautious paw which may be 
found within the limits of her very powerful organ. 
Sometimes this creature will sit quietly on a cat's 
back, and people have wondered how it was 
" tamed and taught " to do so. There was no 
" taming " or " teaching " in the case ; further, 
indeed, than good feeding, and, as it were, making 
the creatures acquainted and familiar — the birds 
with the beasts. The cat, to win his affection, 
must be more sedulously attended to than the 
dog. There is no doubt, indeed, that the grati- 
tude of the one creature is far more easily evoked 
than that of the other. A dog will often follow a 
stranger along a street, if tempted by a bit of 
food. Dog stealers are tolerably well acquainted 
with the fact; but a cat will do nothing of the 
sort. Dogs yield to the first kind word or friendly 
pat. The majority do so, at all events; cats do 
not fling their friendship away so lightly. True, 
when won, it is neither so trusty, so pure, nor so 
elevated as the dog's ; but the peculiar character 
of the creature — its coy, yet by no means fickle 
nature — its suspicious, yet, under certain cir- 
cumstances, confiding disposition — its peculiar 
refinement of taste — (a dog gobbles its meat, like 
a coalheaver over a steak. A well-brought-up cat 
takes dinner coolly, like a gourmet over a pate de 
foie gras) — and, finally, the general grace and 
gliding ease of posture of the creature — its pecu- 
liar cleanliness, and its marked adaptability for 
household purposes — all these qualities ought, 
surely, to elevate puss a step higher in social esti- 
mation than it has yet ascended. — A. B. R. 

[Admitting much of the above to be true, we 
cannot allow that dogs generally are so easily 
cajoled as is here hinted at. A good dog is very 
faithful, and will not follow a stranger. Nor do 
we at all approve of cats ("under any circum- 
stances) being domesticated where there are 
birds in the family. The cat is a vile deceiver — 

a perfect Jesuit. You are never sure of her. 
Whilst lying in your bosom, she is perhaps quietly 
planning how to destroy (unobserved) the dearest 
of your pet canaries. We would quite as soon 
admit an emissary of the Church of Rome into our 
family as a cat, — if that cat had any private view 
to carry out. We are not at all surprised at the 
complaints we receive from so many families 
about losses by cats ; nor do we pity the sufferers. 
How can we? It is their own fault entirely .J 

Life in Man and Beast. — We are too much in 
the habit, my dear sir, of taking it for granted that 
all creatures live at the same rate. But, if we con- 
sider analogy, we shall be forced to admit that 
some animals live " faster," and some " slower" 
than ourselves. Life, like every thing in nature, 
is comparative. The ephemera of a summer-day 
may, in the circumscribed compass of a few hours, 
run through a whole life-time of joy and sorrow ; 
all the history of a life being compacted into so 
small a space of time that years become minutes. 
Life is not a state of rest ; but of incessant 
operation. It is a continual circulation of action 
and being. It is a compound of working powers, 
maintained by one principle, for one end. Every 
thing bodily in man is subject to changes and 
alterations. Every thing on which the vital 
principle exercises its action is in a continual 
alternation of increase and decrease ; of loss 
and reparation. Scarcely have a few years 
elapsed before our substance is entirely renewed, — 
again re-created from the surrounding elements ! 
You will call me a "female philosopher." Be 
it so ! I love Our Journal at all events ; 
and am delighted to see how it ranges over the 
world, doing good without end. A Happy New 
Year to it, — and to its Editor! — Emily P., 

[Oh,— Emily! Well; dumb though we be, 

" Expressive silence muse thy praise ! " 

It in highly gratifying to find so many fair hands 
and tender hearts at work for us. We ac- 
knowledge it gratefully. May thy example be 
follow< 'd by many others, possessed of hearts like 
thine !J 

Eggs of a Bullfinch sucked by a Slug, — A 
curious " FactT — In the month of May, last year, 
I found a bullfinch's nest (containing four eggs) 
built in a rose-bush, which was trained over an 
arch in one of our garden paths. Being anxious 
to save the young, I was careful not to go near 
the place ; lest I should scare the old ones, who 
were for several days to be seen constantly near 
their nest. A short time afterwards, I missed 
them ; and thinking it possible that they had been 
disturbed by the cats, I examined the nest, and to 
my threat surprise found in it a huge slug Limax 
ater) in the act of sucking the eggs ; three of 
which he had finished, and was then operating 
on the fourth. In each of the eggs that were 
sucked, was a small hole (about the eighth of an 
inch in diameter), through which he had abstracted 
the contents. On raising him up with my finger, 
I found his mouth inserted into a small hole, 
similar to those in the others, through which he had 
sucked the yolk and nearly all the white. Having 
caught this gentleman flagrante delicto, he was 



executed by Lynch law. Never having heard of 
such a circumstance before, I send it for the infor- 
mation of yourself, and your many entomological 
readers. — C. F. T. Y., Stockleigh Pomeroy, 

Changes. — Knowing the sentiments of " Our 
Editor," and his ceaseless aim to make people 
"think;" I send for insertion in our own, some 
very impressive lines, which have a voice worth 
listening to. How true it is that " Little things " 
(your favorite theme !) make up our sum of human 
happiness ! — 

The tree that's lopp'd, in time may grow again ; 
The naked plants renew both leaf and flower ; 
The sorriest wight may find release from pain ; 
The driest soil suck in some moistening show'r. 
Times go by turns ; and changes come by course ; 
From foul to fair, from better hap to worse. 

Not always fall of leaf, — not always Spring ; 
Not endless night, yet not eternal day, 
The saddest birds a season find to sing, 
The roughest storms a calm may soon allay. 
Thus, with succeeding turns, God tempereth all — 
That Man may hope to rise, yet fear to fall. 

A chance may win what by mischance was lost ; 
The net that holds no great, takes " little" fish ; 
In some things all, — in others none are crost ; 
Few all they need, but none have all they wish : 
Unmingled joys here to no man do fall, 
Who least have some ; who most have never all ! 

Worcester. Gilly- Flower. 

Cats, — their Sensitiveness to Mesmeric Influ- 
ence. — I note in your last, that a want of leisure 
has prevented your going into the philosophy of 
this interesting inquiry ; and that your pen can- 
not discharge one-twentieth part of its required 
duties. How should it? Well then; let me 
help you. [Most cordially do we thank you ; 
and accept the profivred service.] I do so cheer- 
fully ; for it is a subject in which I take particular 
pleasure. Electricity is now engaging the atten- 
tion of all the world. Europe in particular is 
making rapid strides in a knowledge of its wonder- 
ful powers. The Electric Telegraph faithfully 
transmits our messages, and with the rapidity of 
thought. It will no doubt bear its part in helping 
on a moral revolution. There is a body of evidence 
in existence, waiting to be examined as to the 
truth of its miraculous influence. You are well 
aware of the progress now making by professional 
mesmerists, — despite the sneers of our " great 
physicians" (so ca led), and our soi-disant philoso- 
phers who rank as " eminent men." Why will not 
these individuals investigate the truth of this 
science, and wait patiently to learn more of its won- 
derful powers ? [For the best of all reasons : medi- 
cine would then become " no mystery." Lord Bur- 
leigh's head when shaken would mean " nothing." 
Gravity would not "go down;" and the physi- 
cian's coffers would become gradually exhausted. 
Good sense would soon banish superstition ; and 
" fancy" — the physician's idol — would give way to 
the enjoyment of ruddy health. This will never 
do !] Hitherto, their medical press has shamefully 
distorted facts, and refused publication of the as- 

tounding cures by Mesmerism in the Hospitals at 
Calcutta ; as ako in England. Why will they 
not investigate ? — why will they continue to refuse 
to visit and examine ? The " reason" is surely ob- 
vious. The Mesmeric influence, rightly directed, 
is one of great power; this has been proved, times 
out of number, by the cure of many obstinate 
states of disease which defy the power of medicine. 
Indeed, its legitimate use is in the cure of disease, 
and the alleviation of pain ; in the giving a sound 
and fortifying sleep when opiates are of no use. 
Public exhibitions of Mesmeric and Electro-Bio- 
logical experiments cannot be too much con- 
demned [Arrant "humbugs" are all these pseudo- 
doctors, and charlatans]. If medical men go 
there to investigate (more especially if prompted 
by a cavilling spirit), they had better stay at 
home. An exhibition-room is not the place for 
patient physical and psychical study. Let them 
divest themselves of bigotry and prejudice, and 
watch the good that is daily effected. Then will 
they soon convince themselves (if they are not 
already convinced) of the existence of a power 
more potent, and less dangerous than chloroform. 
They will learn that operations which could not 
possibly be performed under chloroform, can be 
safely commenced and triumphantly completed in 
the deep mesmeric sleep. Their continued oppo- 
sition to Dr. Elliotson has but ended in their 
shame; whilst he is now universally recognised as 
a public benefactor. The advancement of scientific 
truth, cannot now be stifled. The evidence of the 
existence of a mesmeric influence is quite as con- 
clusive to all who perseveringly seek for it, as the 
evidence on which philosophers and men of science 
believe in. the wonders of electricity, galvanism, 
or magnetism. This mesmeric influence is of 
great permeating power. As the magnet attracts 
the needle through glass; so, bodies in a state 
of disease attract or draw from the mesmerist 
his life-giving mesmeric influence. Hence the 
exhaustion sometimes felt by mesmerists. I 
believe that we all possess this power, but not 
all in the same degree. And ere long it will be 
proved, that it varies in men not only in degree, 
but in quality. It appears to me, from observation 
and experiment, that the power admits of classi- 
fication. Men and women — I mean human beings, 
differ so much in temperament and in mental con- 
formation, that their mesmeric emanations cannot 
but receive a character. The intensity, character, 
and quality must differ ; and the judgment of the 
experienced mesmerist should direct where, when, 
and how to use them. In a paper like Our Journal, 
it is impossible to do justice to so important a 
subject. [We can only allow it to be introduced 
incidentally.] We are waiting for true physicians. 
In time they will appear, and command their 
natural position. Thus much prefatory. All who 
have studied mesmerism know, that inferior ani- 
mals are in various degrees as susceptible to the 
mesmeric influence as human beings. This proves 
that the imagination cannot be the actuating cause. 
Not long since, a horse was cured of lock-jaw by 
the mesmeric passes. (By the way, can any of your 
readers enlighten us on the subject of " Horse-whis- 
perers ?") Miss Martineau cured a cow of a dan- 
gerous disease by the mesmeric influence. Birds, 
both wild and tame, have often been placed in the 
deep mesmeric sleep ; and fish have been subjected 



to its influence. [We can speak oracularly rthout 

this ; having had the most pleasing proofs of it.] 1 
have often produced curious and very marked effects 
upon cats, and have always found them remark- 
ably sensitive to the mesmeric power. In some, 
the passes appear to produce a state of great irri- 
tability. In others, contrary effects are excited. I 
have very lately succeeded, after much opposition 
from pussy, in completely entrancing her. Now, 
as in human beings who are sensitive the upward 
mesmeric passes are sometimes dangerous, and 
productive of very curious states, — so, in all cats, 
backward passes from the tail to the head produce 
irritation. I have frequently heard it remarked, 
that black cats are highly electrical, and that a 
cat taken into a dark place, and rubbed backwards, 
will emit electrical sparks. I am not quite disposed 
to believe that these sparks when seen are thrown 
off by the cat. There may sometimes be a curious 
sympathetic attraction between a cat and a human 
being, and the sparks seen may possibly be mes- 
meric, not electric. Van Helmont (from whose 
works I think it more than likely that Mesmer 
obtained much of his knowledge) states, that a 
cat thrown into the lap of a magnetised patient, 
will produce convulsions. Some few years ago, 
watching by the bedside of a dying friend (a 
gentleman who had always expressed a dislike 
to cats, and who during his long illness could 
not bear the presence of one — in fact his lady was 
compelled to banish the cat from the house), I 
was much astonished by his remarking to me, in 
a voice expressive of fear and much agitation, that 
a cat was in the house. On my telling him that 
it could not be so (for that some days previously I 
had requested his wife to send the cat away), he 
spoke more earnestly, — imploring me to go and 
see ; for that he felt there was one in the house. 
I left his room accordingly; and found, down stairs, 
a strange cat. Of course I sent the animal away ; 
and he immediately felt relief. It is often said, 
that cats go away to die. Indeed 1 have known 
many (after much bodily suffering) to suddenly 
disappear. What influences them ? Where does 
their instinct lead them ? — John James Bird. 

[This inherent Mesmeric power over man and 
animals ought to he no secret. If time permitted, 
we feel sure we could be pleasingly eloquent on 
the subject, and entertain our readers with a 
detail of our interesting experiments this way 
(even from boyhood), that would hold them spell- 
bound. It is this cherished power(felt and enjoyed) 
that blesses us with so many dear, kind friends. 
Opportunity will bring our " little secret " on the 
tapis some day ; and we will try and impart it. It 
is " worth knowing."] 

The Charms of Flowers. — Oh, — my best and 
dearest of Editors (excuse my rapture, for the 
" coming season" makes my whole existence, as 
you say, fairly "poetry") — is not the very name of 
a flower in early spring quite enchanting? It is 
so suggestive of all that is fresh and lovely in 
nature ! When you come down to Henley, and 
walk with our "happy family" (for we all love 
you) by the side of our picturesque river — I have 
lots of walks in store for you ! — how we will revel 
in scenes of beauty, and engage in conversation 
on those topics in which you so much delight ! 
[Positively, our brain reels !] You love our 

sweet mother, — Nature. So do I. So do we all. 
Only think of what she is planning in her 
slumbers, — of which, recently, you sang so 
sweetly ! Was there ever such a mother ? Surely 
not. How I do long to gaze upon her earliest 
work, — the realisation of her "first impressions ! " 
Then, — to trip after her, morning by morning, 
day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute ! 
But I will not be impatient. Whilst she is finish- 
ing her refreshing nap — her face beaming with 
love and beauty, let us, too, pleasingly dream of 
what awaits us, and worship Nature's God for his 
goodness to us children of men. Oh, those gems 
that sparkle in Nature's diadem — the rich em- 
broidery, and the glittering adornments of her 
gayest and her simplest robes — the pearls, the 
rubies, the diamonds, the sapphires, the gorgeous 
jewels that enrich and beautify her fair person ! Are 
they not sweet flowers ? Who does not love 
flowers? The highest and the lowliest, the rich 
and the humble; those who are gifted with high 
intellect, and those of limited capacity, — all unite 
in this one sweet sense of the beautiful. It is a 
sad house that has no flowers in it ! Aye; and 
that is a hard and harsh soul which can let the 
beautiful summer-time glide away, and find no 
pleasure in looking upon this choicest gift of 
nature. We may expect to find — and we do find, 
the exquisite blossoms of our own land, and rare 
exotics, in the lordly dwellings of the rich. Yet 
we see the humbler, but not less lovely, in the 
homes of the poor; all as carefully tended and 
cherished as their means and limited time will 
permit, even though it be one small flower in a 
little pot, struggling for life in a smoky garret. — 
Honeysuckle, Henley. 

[Really, Honeysuckle, — if you paint your 
pictures after this fashion, we fear we shall be 
oftener found at Henley than at our proper post. 
A desk, a stool, an " attic" dwelling, a dreary 
look-out below (slightly relieved by an old dirty 
flower-pot above, occupied by a faded China-aster), 
and the frantically -horrible sounds ground by an 
Italian nondescript out of the bowels of an 
organ (!) in the street — these are our present pros- 
pects. And yet you sing to us about nature and 
flowers, till our very heart aches ! Let that 
"little spare room" be got ready, — s'il vous plait.'] 

Longevity of the Ass. — Some people say it is 
impossible to state the average duration of this 
animal's life. [It is so.J Others say, you rarely, 
if ever, meet with a dead one. [This, too, is 
another curious fact.] Be that as it may, I send 
you an interesting account of an animal who has 
lived to the age of seventy. It is taken from the 
Bury Post: — " A donkey has just died at Forn- 
ham, All Saints, having attained the venerable 
age of seventy years and upwards. It formerly 
belonged to the Cornwallis family, and was ridden 
by the Lady Ann, after whom it was named ; but 
a few years ago, being parted with on account of 
its then old age, it came into the family of Mrs. 
Browne, of Fornham, through whose kindness it 
had for a long time lived a life of ease, ranging at 
large over the fields ; it latterly had been fed on 
bran and soft food, in consequence of its inability 
to eat grass, the teeth being completely worn 
away." Surely the longevity of this donkey argues 
well for the kindness of its mistress; and let us 



hope the circumstance will, if recorded, induce 
others to be similarly humane and generous. — 
Bombyx Atlas. — Tottenham. 

[These animals, if kindly used, live to an 
almost incredible age. Some thirty years since, 
we saw a donkey at work in Carisbrooke Castle, 
Isle of Wight. It used to draw up the bucket 
from the deep well there (shown to visitors) ; and 
had been, we were told, in that occupation some 
sixty years. Its age was stated to be about 
eighty -four. We heard, a few years subsequently, 
that it was dead, — not from age, but from an 
accident. We should imagine that from thirty 
to forty years of age would be a fair average 

Notes during a Short Ramble near Dorches- 
ter. — On a day in the early part of this month 
(December), feeling inclined for a little fresh air, 
(having been closely confined in the office for 
many days), and the morning being clear after a 
fine frost, I took a stroll in fair company round 
Stafford ; returning home by Stinsford. Although 
Winter has arrived, so many objects of local 
interest to a lover of nature are to be observed 
within this short distance, that I cannot refrain 
from giving your readers a brief statement of the 
incidents. We first passed through Fordington, a 
parish of which I can only say it bears not a little 
resemblance to the far-famed " St. Giles's, in 
olden time ;" before the hand of improvement and 
progress (fortunately never ceasing) had swept 
away the impurities of that place. I hope to live, 
to be enabled to record the like result with re- 
ference to Fordington. We then cross a bridge 
on the Wareham road, over the South Western 
Railway, — adjoining a very deep cutting through 
the chalk, and famous for numerous and good 
specimens of fossil remains, discovered here in 
great profusion. We next pass through a turn- 
pike gate, en route to Stafford ; and thence up a 
pretty incline, leaving the picturesque little 
parsonage house of Winterborne Came on the 
right. From the top of this hill, standing on one 
of the Tumuli for which our county is remar- 
kable (tombs, doubtless of the Romans), a noble 
view of a large extent of country meets the eye, 
with Kingston House (now the seat of James 
Fellowes, Esq., formerly of William Morton Pitt, 
Esq., Member of Parliament for the county), 
Bockhampton, and Stafford, in the foreground, 
and Clyffe House, Tincleton and other villages, 
and the railway meandering through the valley, — 
in the distance. Proceeding onward, after listen- 
ing to the rushing engine with a long train of 
carriages, we again cross the railway over another 
bridge. And just below, we enter the fields, 
through which the road leads; forming part of the 
Froome estate. The mansion has been lately re- 
built, and is occupied by the owner, John Floyer, 
Esq.; one of the M.P.'s for the county. It is a 
. very interesting structure, in the Old English style; 
and surrounded by some splendid trees, bearing 
the remains of the last year's nests of a colony of 
rooks, — many of which were flying slowly over 
the fields, on the look-out for prey. We then get 
into a pretty lane, with hedges and rivulets on 
each side ; till we arrive at the large bridge over 
the river Froome, near the quiet village of Bock- 
hampton, which, with its new school-house, &c-, 

forms a very pleasing object to the passer-by. 
The water was glassy-clear, and we saw many 
fine specimens of the fish for which " our river" 
is noted — the trout. It was amusing to watch 
these fellows, facing the limpid little rivulets 
running from the meadows into the river ; waiting 
for flies and other in sects brought down by the 
stream. The path from the bridge is bordered 
on each side with water ; and the trout, with now 
and then the splash of a rat, and the low murmur 
of the ripple over the gravelly bed form a cheer- 
ful accompanimenl to our thoughts. We also 
saw several fine blackbirds in the hedges, hunting 
for food ; and others over the water-meadows. 
Insects we observed none; but it was evident, 
from the occupation of the blackbirds, that worms 
and others were " about, to their undoing." Still 
going along the path skirting the pleasure-grounds 
of Kingston House (a view of which we had from 
the opposite hill about a mile distant), we were 
entertained by the sounds of the various aquatic 
birds on the ponds ; and the flight of some dis- 
turbed teal. We saw likewise several of those 
lovely little " conceited"-looking birds, the Kitty 
Wren; and also of the Eobin, — so well known, 
and on account of their tameness, respected even 
by boys, — usually such young destructives. 
Emerging now from the fields into the road called 
"the London Road," at the point of Fordington- 
moor Turnpike, we cross the river again at Grey's 
Bridge, — a handsome stone erection of three 
arches, built by one of the Pitt family at the end 
of the last century ; and afterwards turning off at 
the bridge called Swan's Bridge, at the lower part 
of the High East Street, we proceed again by the 
bank of the river, passing the " Old Friary," — of 
which, however, no record remains. Here we 
were delighted at seeing a bright-plumed King- 
fisher fly from the bank to the other side of the 
river, and become lost to view. The blue back 
of the little beauty appeared brilliant to a degree; 
and I never before saw one so close to the town. 
Our arrival at the foot of the grounds of the gaol 
by Friary Mills, completed our walk ; which, it is 
needless to say, with fine weather (cold, but con- 
ducive to health and spirits), we greatly enjoyed. 
I cannot help thinking that a walk like this may 
be slightly instructive ; and I must here hold up 
my feeble voice against the indiscriminate 
slaughter of birds and other animals for " collec- 
tions," so ably commented on in Our own Jour- 
nal (see page 283 of the Fourth Volume) ; for 
I frequently call to mind the beautiful lines of the 
immortal bard : — 


" Alas ! my Lord, I have but killed a fly." 


" But how, if that fly had a father and mother ? 
How would he hang his slender gilded wings, 
And buz lamenting doings in the air? 
Poor harmless fly ! 

That with his pretty buzzing melody, 
Came here to make us merry; and thou hast 
killed him ! " 

Dorchester, Dec. 26, 1853. John Garland. 

Insect Observations. Notes on Lepidoptera. 
— Zeuzera iEsculi : I saw a fine female 
specimen of this moth in July last, taken from 



the palings of Victoria Park. The tips of the 
wings were rather shattered, otherwise it was in 
good and perfect condition. Limacodes Testudo : 
I took several larvae of this moth at West Wick- 
ham, in October last. Semiophora Gothica . I 
took a specimen of this insect, near the middle 
of June last, near Dartford. Polia Serena, Cucul- 
lia Umbratica : These moths appear to have been 
rather plentiful this year, in the vicinity of London. 
I have taken and seen many specimens obtained 
in this neighborhood. I am informed, the former 
literally swarmed on the coast at Deal. Xerene 
Albicillata : I took three specimens of this beauti- 
ful insect in one spot, on the 2nd of July last, at 
Darenth. Bapta Taminaria, Macaria Notataria, 
appear to have been unusually abundant this year 
at Darenth. I took several specimens of both 
insects Hypsopygia Costalis : Several speci- 
mens of this beautiful moth have occurred in an 
apple tree in my garden. Hypenodes Abbistri- 
galis : A specimen in Plumstead Wood, last 
August : — Scopula Fernigalis : I took several 
specimens of this insect in good condition at 
Brighton, about the middle of September last. 
Pempelia Perfluella: several specimens in July 
last. The larvae, I imagine, feed on elm, as all 
specimens I have hitherto obtained were in- 
variably beat from hedges of the above tree. I 
have taken this species as early as the 28th of 
May. Elachista Cerussella : I have obtained 
the male of this Tinea by breeding. It appears 
to have been hitherto unknown. Pterophorus 
Acanthodactylus : a specimen in the month of 
August, which I beat from a mixed hedge at 
Leytonstone. P. Phceodactylus : several speci- 
mens in the neighborhood of Croydon, during the 
month of July. P. Tetradactylus : a specimen 
on the chalk hills near Dartford, in July last. 
Chrysomela Hcemoptera : a specimen at Brighton, 
about the middle of September last. — C. Miller, 
Hackney , January 12. 

Modern Education. — People, now-a-days, seem 
to marvel at servants and others being ignorant ; 
seeing that this is the age of progress. Progress ! 
Yes. But do we begin at the right end ? Ques- 
tion ! A few days since, I entered a shop in a 
neighboring parish to make a trifling purchase. 
Whilst there, a smartly-dressed young woman, 
aged about twenty-five, and having the appearance 
of a nursery governess, stepped in. From the airs 
she gave herself, and her evident desire to attract 
attention, I was induced — you know I am always, 
like yourself, trying to learn something — to linger 
behind for a few minutes. I then heard as follows : 
— Simpering Miss — Pray do you sell stamps ? 
Shop-woman — Yes, M-i-s-s. Simpering Miss — 
Will you be so obliging as to let me have two 
penn'orth? Shop-woman — Yes, M-i-s-s. (And 
she cut them off; and put them in paper.) Sim- 
pering Miss — Now I must get you to tell me how 
much they come to. The answer was — " two- 
pence." This difficulty over; a question was raised 
as to the shop-woman selling wafers. One pen- 
n'orth of these was asked for ; and handed over, 
in a neat envelope. Then followed the knotty 
question — " How much do they amount to?" and 
the answer — " one penny, if you please, M-i-s-s." 
" Dear me !" simpered the purchaser, " one penny, 
— just what I guessed. Thank you. Here is a 

four-penny piece. What will they be altogether ?" 
The reply of "three-pence," elicited one more 
question — " Will there be any change ?" Another 
reply of — " Yes ; one penny," seemed to amaze 
the fair postulant, who smirkingly tripped off, in 
the highest good humor with herself, lisp-ing out 
— " I wish you a g-o-o-d morn-ing, me'm !" As 
she became lost to sight, I turned round and 
inquired if many such customers entered that 
shop ? The mistress, coming forward, replied — 
" Yes, indeed, I have many such ; but," added she, 
" I do not know the person who has just gone out. 
She is a chance customer." Now. my dear sir, 
on every side we behold extravagantly-built alms- 
houses, as well as schools for the reception and 
education of the humbler classes. Would it not, 
I ask you, be a wiser thing to expend more money in 
training the mind of the poorer classes in the right 
way? Then might we gaze more complacently 
on some of these absurdly-ornamented buildings ! 
I am no friend to the ridiculous education 
accorded to many classes in the present day ; 
but surely, such a spectacle as the one I have 
faintly described to you, is something more than 
lamentable ! — Bombyx Atlas. 

[Your remarks are perfectly just. We daily 
see lamentable exhibitions of this extreme ig- 
norance. Pretty faces and pretty figures are all 
very well, — in their way ; but how one shudders 
at the wilderness of weeds within !] 

Curious Collection of Semi-torpid Flies in a 
Thatched Hoof. — On removing part of the 
thatched roof of the Rectory House, Stockleigh 
Pomeroy, in .order to replace it by new — which 
was done a fortnight before Christmas, 1853, 
an immense number of flies, consisting chiefly 
of the Musca Coesar, M. Domestica, and M. 
Carnaria, were found huddled together in a 
semi-torpid state. Amongst them were the re- 
mains of a great quantity of the smaller species, 
as well as of those above-mentioned, apparently 
the collection of several years. There were also 
about forty females of the Vespa Vulgaris, which 
had evidently taken up their winter quarters 
in the thatch. Most of them were killed ; but 
not before some of the workmen had felt that 
these gentry wore their side-arms. — C. F. T. Y. 

Cats as Merchandise. "A Card." — I observe, 
my dear sir, not without some degree of secret 
pleasure (in which I think you will share), that 
cats are " doing" in Australia at 20s. each. At 
page 319, Vol. IV. of Our Journal, reference is 
made by a correspondent to Mr. Hitchcock, of 
Geelorig, who deals largely, — purchasing by the 
cart (or cat) load. Now, my dear sir, do you 
know the party or parties, — and is there any 
chance of our leing able to do business toge- 
ther (I speak confidentially) on anything like a 
remunerating scale ? Of course you must par- 
ticipate in the profits; and if you negotiate 
satisfactorily, I will invoice each animal to you 
{you accounting for the sales to me) at 12s. 6d. 
each, — with a further rebate of 5 per cent, for a 
cash settlement. To prevent any annoyance, I 
will call them " Tabbs," imd they shall be sent 
up in a wooden cask (per cart). Entre nous, 
I hate all cats but my own ; and of her — dear 
good soul ! — you have already spoken in terms of 



the highest praise. She deserved it, as a reference 
to Vol. II., page 299, will prove. However, I 
must not quote your Latin compliment, — 

" Mi-cat inter omnes" 

whilst packing up that cask ! We must make it, 
s'il vous plait, — 

" Mi-cat restat ! " 

for she is such a de — ar ! The breed I have in 
view for export, are a prime sort — warranted good 
mousers ; and of a handsome presence withal. 1 
know where to get a nice lot more of the same sort ; 
so you may safely negotiate. Keep my name and 
address secret, and all will be safe, I am in your 
hands ; and feel you will do me justice. We quite 
understand each other, — eh ? — Your's, Fanny. 

[" Close as wax " are we, Fanny. We will 
make inquiries as soon as possible. Meantime, — 

A Fresh-Water Vivarium. — Can Borne one of 
your readers tell me whether anybody has yet 
undertaken to fit up in private houses, a Fresh- 
Water " Vivarium " on the principle of the marine 
one now exhibiting in tlie Regent's Park? Surely 
nothing could be more ornamental to a room than 
a glass tank ; so arranged that the animal and 
vegetable worlds might balance each other, — 
keeping the water pure without the necessity for 
changing it. Just throw out the hint. — J. B. M., 

First-rate Skylarks. — I want, Mr. Editor, a 
first-rate Skylark; but after the treatment you 
met with from that good-for-nothing fellow, John 
Tuthill, of Edinburgh (calling himself a medical 
man), I dare not ask you to get one for me. 
Please direct me where to apply. — E. W., Dundee. 

[Use our name, and write to Mr. Clifford, 
24, Great St. Andrew Street, Holborn. He has 
some remarkably fine songsters just now; and you 
may place every reliance on him. You speak of 
John Tuthill. He has never re-imbursed us for 
the cost of his German canary ; nor could we ever 
induce him to give back the bird. He is an arrant 
villain, as we wrote and told him. We believe he 
still resides at 23, Clyde Street, Edinburgh. His 
having had " a gentlemanly education " only adds 
to his knavery. We have now quite done with 
choosing, buying, and sending birds " cost and 
carriage free ! "] 

On the Verbena: — 

When rudely handled, or severely press'd, 

How sweet the fragrance from thy leaves ex- 

press'd ! 
Injur'd by man, a lesson here we learn, — 
For malice, love; for evil, good return. 


Sympathy of the Poor for each other. — I was 
much delighted at those remarks of yours, on page 
352, vol. iv. ; and apropos of that same subject, I 
send you the following : — Early one lovely sum- 
mer morning, a poor travelling woman requested 
me to give her a cup of cold water. It was a 
humble request, — so humble that the water 
became milk ! It was not a costly substitute — 
but how thankfully it was received ! Being more 

than she required, the good soul asked if she 
might give the remainder to her child, who was 
waiting in the road? Of course I said yes; and 
the child having drained the cup to the bottom, 
smilingly returned it. Both then trudged forward 
on their way. Nothing more was thought of them ; 
but, in about an hour afterwards, looking from a 
window which commanded a sight of the road, I 
observed the child in a state of seeming distress (she 
was at some considerable distance). On going to 
the spot, there lay the poor mother — almost in a 
hopeless state. Strong stimulants being applied, 
she recovered sufficiently for us to become aware 
that the milk she had swallowed had occasioned 
violent cramp. She told us, too, that the object 
of her journey was to dispose of some list shoes at 
a neighboring town. This, she said, would enable 
her to discharge her rent, and so keep a roof over 
the heads of herself and children. At this 
moment, whilst we were anxiously debating how 
to act, a travelling tinker carrie up. He at once 
saw what was the matter; spoke soothingly to 
the child, and sympathetically to the mother, — 
slyly and hastily slipping a silver coin into the 
poor woman's hand. " God help you ! " said he, 
in an under tone, "your wants are greater than 
mine ; and I shall not miss it." We overheard 
enough to make us try to detain him. It was no 
use. Turning a deaf ear, he was speedily out of 
sight, and carried with him — an honest, a tender 
conscience. . . Two days subsequently, we 
had the satisfaction of seeing these two poor 
creatures leave the parish workhouse (whose 
Master was a credit to humanity), quite restored. 
They called on us, invoked blessings on our head, 
and departed. . . About three months after- 
wards, a clean, neatly-dressed woman stood at 
our door. It was our old casual acquaintance of 
the highway. She had travelled twenty miles, 
and came with a little offering of gratitude — in the 
form of list slippers, for each one of the family. 
This we could not altogether refuse ; so we com- 
promised the matter by accepting one pair. We 
were gratified in hearing that the sale of her shoes 
had been effected ; her rent paid, and all her other 
little affairs " set straight." Of the tinker, we 
heard no more. I have thought of that tinker, — 
oh, how often ! and more than once envied him 
his feelings on the day I first saw him. You 
quite understand me, I am sure. Else am I a 
stranger to the recesses of your heart. — Mimosa. 

[Yes, Mi-mi — ,you have touched a chord of 
sympathy. Behold ! — anotherjewel in our crown !] 

Hurrah for the Potato ! — What a voice has a 
potato ! — What a wonderful gift too is it from 
God to man ! reproving him at once for all his 
ingratitude, and teaching him how dependent he 
is upon his Maker, who is so bountiful in all his 
provisions for his creatures. A potato is welcome 
at all times — in all seasons — in all climates — in all 
forms, — whether for luncheon, dinner, or supper, 
the potato is ever heartily received. First think 
of a plain boiled potato. Then fancy it nicely 
mashed, in company with a little milk, cream, &c, 
&c How aged people do enjoy it ! — Is it not deli- 
cious ? Oh — yes ! See it fried, or baked celafait 
venir V eau a la bouche. Have you never had your 
olfactory nerves regaled on your way home from 
the parish church, on the sabbath, with the 



exquisitely savory smell of a beautiful joint of 
baked-pork, which some ruddy girl, in her neat 
Sunday dress and clean white apron, is bringing 
smoking-hot from the baker's, to the family table ? 
[Hold hard ! good Bombyx.] Have you never 
wished, as you espied the crisp crackling, and 
brown frizzling potatoes peeping from underneath 
their snowy covering (speak the truth Mr. Editor) 
that it was going to your own table ? [We never 
see this without breaking the "tenth command- 
ment."] / have, often. More especially when, 
a little further on, you meet the bustling boy from 
the neighboring inn with his blue tray in each 
hand, well filled with sundry pots of frothy 
porter. I really cannot go on, lest you should 
think that the roast pork and brown potatoes 
make me forget all about the eloquent discourse 
of the kind-hearted, venerable vicar. But do just 
think of a potato-salad — with a salted herring or 
two mixed up with it. Ma foil mais c'est 
superhe. [If you go on thus, we shall become ex- 
travagant; our appetite is getting alarmingly keen.] 
One more dish I must just hint at, and then, good- 
bye. Only fancy yourself coming home after a 
tiring day's walk (say about nine o'clock on a frosty 
night), when, in a few short minutes, stands before 
you a large dish of smoking roasted potatoes, 
butter, salt, pepper, &c, &c, flanked by a bright 
pewter of Charrington's best ! [This has "finished" 
us completely.] The potato is found on the table 
of the highest sovereign, and decorates equally that 
of the poorest peasant. It is eaten and enjoyed 
by the high and the low, the rich and the poor. 
It is a universal favorite. In almost all countries, 
in every quarter of the globe, it is (f believe) 
found. I have seen a great deal in my time, 
Mr. Editor, and dined in many odd places, but I 
really cannot recollect that the delicious potato (in 
some one shape or another) ever failed to form 
part of the repast. Even in an entomological 
point of view, what a noble insect is Acherontia 
Atroposf You know the favorite food of the 
beautiful larvae is the potato ; its leaves and young 
stems. It is true it will feed on the jasmin ; but 
then this splendid insect (as if to show its deep 
regret at the absence of the noble potato) invari- 
ably doffs its luxurious emerald dress, and habits 
itself in a sober, quakerish garb (yellowish brown), 
such as "veritable" quakers of the olden time 
used to wear. Now, are we sufficiently thankful 
for the potato ? Do we, or do we not, bless the 
bounteous hand of that most wonderful, invisible 
Creator, for this His inexpressibly great gift to 
man? If not, it is because we either do not think 
at all, or else we do not think rightly ; and as the 
object of Our Journal is to make men " think," 
I hope you will find a corner in it for the thoughts 
of an old man on that most invaluable of all vege- 
tables, the potato. — Bombtx Atlas, Tottenham. 
[Your voice in praise of the potato, will, ere 
this reaches your eye, have been heard far and 
near. Its echo will soon resound in America, 
Australia, and the ends of the earth. Speedily, 
we hope, the potato will be restored to its pristine 
vigor and excellence. Good it is, even now ; but 
it has long pined for frost and snow. These, in 
all their powers and energies, have lately been 
added to our other blessings. The earth is rege- 
nerated — disease destroyed — new ife imparted — 
and the potato will soon be " himself again."] 

On Breeding Goldfinch Mules. — The grand 
secret of management is, to get a good hen canary 
to cast or throw off a " marked" or pied mule, 
when crossed with a goldfinch. I have devoted 
much of my time to this interesting study. I 
originally procured a buff, or mealy common cock, 
and a bright yellow hen canary ; both free from 
mark or spot. With these I bred in 1845. From 
the nest of young, I selected one pair, and bred 
with them in 1846. Again I selected a pair from 
their progeny, and bred with them in 1847. Not 
one of their produce was deformed, or in any way 
misshapen, although so near of kin. (Yen; are of 
course aware that delicate hens throw off lighter 
birds than do rank hens.) In 1848, I crossed one 
of the young hens with a goldfinch, which cast 
two dark, worthless mules; but there was one 
worth a guinea in the same nest. This same hen 
has thrown off several beautiful mules, for three 
successive years. Her (three) sisters were sold 
to a bird-dealer in Sunderland, in 1848. His 
name is William Chalk, and he is a man well- 
known. He has bred " marked" mules with all 
of them, — also with their daughters, all of whom 
were mated with goldfinches — T. J. 

The Language of Birds. — I do not wish to 
conceal from you, my dear sir, that you are a little 
bit of a favorite of mine. I like the conceit that 
places you, month after month, in the company of 
such sweet Flowers, — rejoicing, too, in such pretty 
names, — all so significant in their respective mean- 
ings ! It is a pleasing idea, and should by all 
means be kept up. After this, you will be expect- 
ing that / want to become a " Flower." Exactly 
so. You have guessed quite right. But what 
shall I be ? Something that you can love, — of 
course. Stay ; it shall be " Lily of the Valley," 
or " Happiness Returned." That will do. 
[" Nicely."] I am not jealous, — not a bit. Else 
would " Honeysuckle," "Heartsease," [Alas, dear 
" Lily of the Valley," that noble soul is dead !] 
"Puss," "Violet," and others, set my ruff up. 
No, no ! We will all be " one " united happy 
family. I send you to-day a choice morceau, as 
being applicable to the New Year, — a season when 
gratitude, love, thankfulness, and rejoicing, are 
called for at our hands. You will please imagine 
it to form part of a conversation between a phea- 
sant of the woods and a barn-door fowl, who 
(naughty boy !) had strayed from home. But let 
us hear the pheasant speak : — " That bird, on the 
border of the wood, with his warbling note of 
' Tiri ! tiri ! ' always rising higher towards Heaven 
as he flies — is the Lark. He proclaims that God 
is Almighty. That other, nestling so modestly 
in those dark bushes, whose tones float so softly 
on the summer breeze, is — the Nightineale. He 
says ' God is Love.' This one here, with his cry 
of ' Cuckoo ! ' praises the God who is over all. 
And lastly, those lively little birds in the golden 
dress, who hop so cheerily among the branches, 
are finches. They bid us ' Fear God, and stay 
ourselves upon Him.' " As regards worshipping 
God in the fields and woods ; gardens, hedge-rows, 
and lanes, — I quite agree with you. All we see 
in our walks, tends to his glory. Happy they 
whose hearts can feel these things ! How pure is 
the enjoyment arising from Innocence ! — Lily op 
the Valley. 



[You are duly "enrolled" Mademoiselle, and 
we look to you for constant communications. You 
have a tender heart ; and a flowing, ready pen.] 

The Sorrows of Werther.— The Southern 
Literary Messenger (U. S.) for the past month 
contains, in the " Editor's Table," the following 
comic poem of Thackeray's, wfitten, we are told, 
"one morning last spring in the Messenger's 
office," during a call made by the author : — 

Werther had a love for Charlotte, 
Such as words could never utter. 

Would you know how first he met her? 
She was cutting — bread and butter. 

Charlotte was a married lady, 
And a moral man was Werther ; 

And for all the wealth of Indies 

Would do nothing that might hurt her. 

So he sigh'd, and pined, and ogled, 
And his passion boil'd and bubbled, 

Till he blew his silly brains out, — 
And no more was by them troubled. 

Charlotte, having seen his body 
Borne before her on a shutter, — 

Like a well-conducted person 

Went on cutting — bread and butter. 


Immorality of Glasgow. — At page 373 of Vol. 
LV, you mention Glasgow as having attained 
" the bad pre-eminence" of being the greatest 
whisky drinker. The "returns," there quoted, 
are not correct ; but whether Glasgow deserves 
the epithet, or no, I shall not now discuss. " Bad's 
the best." The number of whisky shops in some 
of the streets here, is perfectly appalling. Indeed 
half the inhabitants must eat, sleep on, and be 
clothed with — whisky. New Year's Day is here ; 
and throughout Scotland, there is an annual 
jollification. Whenever the bell announcing the 
departure of the Old year has struck, numbers of 
people issue forth to the streets to " first foot" 
This ceremony is conducted as follows : — each 
person has a bottle (filled of course), and a glass ; 
and, in some cases, bun or sweet bread. At every 
friend's house that he goes to, or with every 
acquaintance that he meets, both bottles are pro- 
duced. He gets a glassful, and gives a glassful ; 
drinks a Happy New Year; is wished the same 
in return ; and then sallies out to repeat the same 
" feat." By day- light, or about eight o'clock, he is 
if not " drunk and incapable," at least " obfustica- 
ted." This means, that the clod he calls ahead is 
making every endeavor to reach its mother earth. 
Of every age, sex, and condition, these poor speci- 
mens of humanity may be seen, — some " speech- 
less," or " blind ; " others " fou " — here, one 
" screwed ; " and there, one " happy." But to 
the honor of Glasgow be it spoken, immode- 
rate drinking is much less frequent of late years ; 
as the police records and personal observation can 
testify. This is to be attributed to various causes. 
The many temptations to cheap excursions, 
botanic gardens, and museums, at Id. ; the ex- 
ertions of temperance societies and teachers; and 
last, not least, the growing good sense and in- 
telligence of the working classes. But, this year, 

that awful monitor, — the Cholera, restrained 
many from excess ; for, during the Christmas 
week, its horrible arms encircled not fewer than 
twelve to twenty victims every day. The statis- 
tics you quote at the before- mentioned page, arc, 
no doubt, taken from the revenue returns, which 
give only the quantity made, — not the amount 
consumed. So that of course there have to be 
deducted large quantities exported, and used in 
various manufactories. Glasgow is, as you re- 
mark, still " shut-up " on the Sunday ; but, never- 
theless, things are not so bad as they used to 
be. The people are gradually getting more free 
and enlightened. Bigotry is subsiding, and 
Christian charity springing up instead. Many of 
our ministers, sectarianism thrown aside, have 
banded together to teach the masses, — who, a 
living sore, rot and fester in our midst. May 
God reward them for it ; for the truest charity, 
humanity, and philanthropy, is to teach, preach, 
and relieve, " at home," before looking abroad. 
In short, to take the mote from our eyes, before 
we think of attempting to remove (what we call) 
the beam from our neighbor's : — 

When I reflect on all the varied ills 
Entailed on poor humanity by Satan's blessing, 
And God's most awful malediction, — whisky, 
It makes my blood run cold, and chills 
The inmost marrow of my bones. 

Glasgow, Jan., 1, 1854. J. B. M. 

'■ Under the Rose." — The term under the rose 
implies secrecy, and had its origin during the year 
B.C. 477, at which time, Pausanias, the com- 
mander of the confederate fleet, was engaged in an 
intrigue with Xerxes, for the marriage of his 
daughter, and subjugation of Greece to the 
Medean rule. Their negotiations were carried 
on in a building attached to the temple of Minerva, 
called the Brazen House, the roof of which was a 
garden forming a bower of roses ; so that the plot, 
which was conducted with the utmost secrecy, 
was literally matured under the rose. It was dis- 
covered, however, by a slave ; and as the sanctity 
of the place forbade the Athenians to force Pau- 
sanias out, or kill him there, they finally walled 
him in, and left him to die of starvation. Itfinally 
grew to be a custom among the Athenians to 
wear roses in their hair whenever they wished to 
communicate to another a secret which they 
wished to be kept inviolate. Hence the saying, 
sub rosa, among them, and now almost all Chris- 
tion nations. — Violet, Worcester. 

The late Severe Weather, and our Feathered 
Songsters. — Anxious to ascertain what ravages 
had been made by the intensity of the late frost, 
and deep snows, we took a stroll through our 
favorite haunts, — Acton, Harlesden, &c, on the 
22nd ult. The sun was shining brightly ; not a 
cloud was visible ; and the scene around was one 
expanse of quiet loveliness. We found, as we 
rambled, that our worst fears were realised. Star- 
vation had sadly thinned our little friends; and the 
voices that met our ear, though sweet, were very 
few in number. Let us hope others will speedilv 
come to fill up the many vacancies; for we cannot 
live without the harmony of our thrushes, black- 
birds, and skylarks. Bobins are plentiful enough, 



— and that is something; Hedge-sparrows, and 
chaffinches, too, appear to have braved the storm; 
but I he larger birds are certainly missing. The 
savage gun has greatly assisted in thinning their 
ranks, no doubt. During the frost, we observed 
skylarks frequenting the high roads; dividing the 
half-digested oats, found there, with the sparrows. 
Poor creatures ! In London streets, too, we saw 
a chaffinch (nearly starved) associated with the 
black sparrows, — picking up what it could find 
dropped in the road. In like manner, the various 
races of tit-mice took refuge in our public squares 
at the west, and subsisted on charity. Many 
other feathered starvelings put in here, through 
stress of weather. No doubt the total number 
that has perished is inconceivable, — for the ground 
was hard as iron, and all insect life was concealed 
from observation by the snow. Another week or 
two wull tell us more about the extent of our mis- 
fortune. — W. K. 

The Holly for Ever I — Before the joys of the 
season are passed away, and the holly ceases to 
form part of our domestic decorations, I send the 
following to be immortalised in Our Own : — 

Hurrah for the Holly ! the true evergreen, 

The plant that looks bright when most bright 
things have faded, 
And which, when old Winter has sputter'd his 

Still shelters the stem that in summer it shaded. 
So friends that in sunshine alone hover round, 

And when poverty threatens fly off in a volley, 
May turn to the tree that unchanging is found, 

And learn that a lesson is taught by the Holly. 
Hurrah for the Holly ! the evergreen Holly ! 

Come weave me a wreath of its berries to-night; 
Its presence shall banish the churl, Melancholy, 

And send us, instead, the young fairy, Delight. 

Farewell now to Melancholy. And hurrah — three 
cheers! — for the Delights of Spring! — Violet, 

Humility. — Can you squeeze in these few lines 
from the pen of Montgomery ? If so, pray do : — 

The bird that soars on highest wing 
Builds on the ground her lowly nest ; 

And she that doth most sweetly sing 
Sings in the shade when all things rest : 

In lark and nightingale we see 

What honor hath humility ! 


" Death-Song " of the Swan.— Mr. Hallett, of 
Hooe, tells us that he feeds the swans of Col. 
Harris, at Radford ; and that he observed the other 
day, one of them, apparently healthy, swimming 
about the pond, and uttering a wild, melodious, 
wailing sound. He was singing his death -song! 
In a few hours afterwards, he was floating on the 
water, — dead! — Carmina jam moriens canit ex- 
sequalia Cygnus. — Frank. 

An Excellent Receipt for Mending Delicate 
China, &c — At a time when glass ornaments 
and delicate china are so much in fashion, it 
may be useful to know how to mend them neatly 
and strongly. The preparation required is 
simply, — isinglass, dissolved in spirit of wine. 

Being colorless, its presence is not perceive- 
able, and its adhesive powers are marvellous. 
The two pieces to be united, should each have a 
small quantity of the mixture placed on their 
edges, by means of a camel's hair pencil. Then 
use gentle pressure ; keeping the mended ornament 
in your hand for a few minutes, until the affinity 
is perceptible. It will then be, — " good as ever." 
— Rosa B. 

Cheap Cookery for " dear " Times. — One of 
your contemporaries says : — The cottager's wife 
has many avocations that necessarily prevent 
constant attendance on her cooker} 7 ; but surely 
it would be a humane and pleasing enterprise in 
a gentleman's or farmer's family, to cause sundry 
dishes to be prepared in their kitchens from 
articles that are now neglected or despised. The 
distribution of such food at cost price would be a 
wholesome lesson to the people ; proving that a 
hot nourishing meal may be obtained at less 
expense than is now the rasher, the bread, or 
cheese. And why should not a portion of such 
fare be served at the master's table ? It would 
need the example of superiors, to induce the 
" million" to eat of food they have hitherto 
despised. It was thus practised by the gentry 
during the dearth that occurred towards the end of 
last century — a dearth so great as to have caused 
the Act of Parliament prohibiting the sale of new 
bread. It was then a fashion to have some of 
the cheap foods then recommended to be served at 
entertainments, as well as at the gentleman's 
family meals. There has resulted from this 
fashion at least one beneficial effect, — that of a 
very extensive use by the humbler classes of 
herrings as salted at Yarmouth. There was 
adopted also at that time a proposition to partially 
salt fish at distant fisheries, so tbat London might 
be served with it in an eatable state. Were a 
hint taken from this, it might turn out a profitable 
speculation (as well as a great additional supply 
of food), to marinade or otherwise cook fish — on the 
west coast of Ireland, for example ; and to have it 
conveyed for sale to British towns. Even on our 
own coasts, some kinds of fish are despised for 
want of a better mode of cooking them — the conger 
eel, for instance. It is too fat and luscious plainly 
boiled or baked ; but dressed as a curry and eaten 
with rice it is delicious. Pilchards with spices, 
or mixed with a dry fish like skate, often a drug 
in the west of England, might probably find a 
ready sale in the metropolis at the low price at 
which they could be profitably afforded. — R. W. 

Gold Fish in Frozen Ponds. — Are any of those 
good people, who are always telling us to break 
the ice in our ponds, aware that gold fish in China, 
their native place, live in rivers which are frozen 
over every year ? One would suppose that these 
fishes were small whales which were obliged to 
come to the surface for air, which true fish, of 
course, never do. The reason why you must 
break the ice in your pond is, that if allowed to 
continue freezing, it lowers the temperature of the 
water ; so that the fish are starved from cold, not 
want of air. If all ponds were as deep as mine 
(more than four feet in every part), you might 
allow the ice to remain untouched in ordinary 
winters. I believe the fish bury themselves in the 



mud near the borders, and so are soon killed; 
but most fish-ponds are too shallow. Mine is not 
twenty -two feet across ; and has been frozen for 
more than a week at a time. I have never lost 
one. My chief enemies are owls. Common carp 
can be transported in a frozen state, and thawed 
again alive ! — Somerset. 

The Isle of Dogs. — This island, so long a tract 
of barren a id unproductive maish land, and still for 
the most part seven feet below high-water level, is 
now in a flourishing condition. It has, according 
to the Builder, a population of 5,000 people ; a 
rateable property of £20,000 in value ; 530 houses; 
60 manufactories ; four places of worship; one or 
two good school-houses ; ten excellent public- 
houses ; a doctor (no lawyer !) ; a house agent; a 
gas- work ; an omnibus ; a post-office ; and a station 
for the Thames police. Mr. Cubitt has built, at 
his own expense, a capacious church on the south- 
east extremity of the island. A clock, an organ, 
and a peal of five bells are to be added ; and the 
church, with an acre of ground, is to be vested in 
the Church Building Commissioners, the patron- 
age, with the consent of Brasenose College, Oxford, 
the patrons of the parish, being placed in the 
hands of the diocesan. — E. J. 

What is Electricity ? — Electricity is the effect 
of the revolution of atoms of matter upon 
their axis. All matter is in motion; and 
the various forms which it assumes in organic 
and inorganic structures are depeudent on the 
intensity and peculiarity of the motion of their 
constituent atoms. Atomic motions intensified, 
is electricity ; whether existing naturally or in- 
duced by artificial means. In electrical action, 
one atom communicates its motions to those con- 
tiguous ; and since, in travelling along a wire, 
this motion cannot be retrogressive, no continuous 
electrical current can be caused unless there be a 
reservoir at the negative end of the wire. The 
statement made in regard to the use of only one 
wire, that the earth completes the circuit home 
again, is incorrect ; the fact being, that the earth 
is made the reservoir for the motion excited in the 
battery; but as the electricity is not diffused so 
quickly in the earth as it would be at the negative 
metal, the current is not so intense with one Wire 
as with two. By the revolution of particles of 
matter about their axis, a force is generated called 
magnetism. The revolution of masses of matter 
about their axes generates a force exactly similar, 
called the attraction of gravitation. Generally, 
therefore, the force caused by this kind of motion 
is one of compression ; and the quicker the motion 
the greater the force, as may be seen by increasing 
the length of wire coiled round the soft iron 
magnet. When, however, the motion of the 
atoms, or masses of matter, is about contiguous 
atoms or masses, centrifugal force is generated, 
which is one of extension, and is directly opposed 
to the former. Although, therefore, we only apply 
the term electricity to very intense atomic motion, 
it really belongs to all such motion ; and its 
phenomena are as various as the conditions of 
organic and inorganic substances. And may we 
not infer that, in all living matter, the true state 
of health is that in which the opposing forces of 
extension and compression are in equilibrio, as is 

the case in planetary systems ? and that disease 
and decay are the result of a disturbance of this 
equilibrium? I think this w< mid be a fair field 
for scientific investigation ; for if the contraction 
and expansion of any substance is carried beyond 
its natural state, the destruction of the substance 
follows as a consequence. An illustration of this 
will be seen in the formation of gases from solids 
and liquids, and in other changes of condition, 
dependent on the relative intensity of the con- 
tractile and expansive forces generated by the 
atomic motion. Advantage is taken of this prin- 
ciple in welding iron. When the metal is heated 
to such a degree as to be on the point of changing 
its state from the extreme expansion of the atoms, 
the two parts are violently pressed together, and 
the atoms of one forced among the atoms of the 
other. Also, when steel or iron is heated until 
the atoms repel each other as far as possible, the 
sudden removal of the exciting cause allows the 
atoms to fall together with great force, and the 
metal becomes more dense and hard than if left 
to cool gradually. — W. T. 

A " Christmas Dinner "for the Birds. — A Good 
Example. — All persons who read Our Journal, 
must know wherein its Editor takes most delight, 
— viz., in the record of acts of humanity and 
kindly feeling. This, whether as regards society 
at large, or the so-called lower creation. Let me 
then, my dear sir, register in the columns of Our 
Own, the truly amiable habit that prevails in a 
distant country, of giving the little birds a " Christ- 
mas dinner." It is a much better practice, surely, 
than exists amongst us, — of slaying them with the 
murderous gun, whilst craving our " Christian 
charity ! " Well has charity been christened 
" cold." Our English proverb, " cold as charity," 
is a national disgrace to us ! — " One of the prettiest 
of Christmas customs is the Norwegian practice of 
giving, on Christmas day, a dinner to the birds. 
On that morning, every gable, gateway, or barn- 
door, is decorated with a sheaf of corn fix^d on the 
top of a tall pole ; wherefrom it is intended that 
the birds shall make their Christmas dinner. 
Even the peasants will contrive to have a handful 
set by for this purpose ; and what the birds do not 
eat on Christmas-day remains for them to finish at 
their leisure through the winter." — Fedelta, 
St. Leonards. 

[We record this pretty little fact with the most 
sincere pleasure ; and only hope it may appeal 
forcibly to those thoughtless hearts, which, while 
caring only for " number one," forget that "com- 
forts shared yield a double blessing." The Nor- 
wegian peasants put us all to the blush, — should 
do so, we mean !] 

Cliaracter in a Laugh. — How much of character 
is there in a laugh! You know no man till you 
have heard him laugh — till you know when and 
how he will laugh. There are occasions — there 
are humors, when a man with whom we have 
been long familiar shall quite startle and repel us 
by breaking out into a laugh which comes mani- 
festly right from his heart, and which yet we had 
never heard before. Even in fair ladies, with 
whom we have been much pleased, we have re- 
marked the same thing. As, in many a heart, 
a sweet angel slumbers unseen till some happy 

moment awakens it; so there sleeps often, in 
gracious and amiable characters (deep in the back 
ground) a quite vulgar spirit, which starts into 
life when something rudely comical penetrates into 
the less frequented chambers of the mind. — A 
Free-thinker (!). 

Correction of Children. — " Never strike your 
child," says Eliza Cook. I love her for those 
words. This sentiment may seem to be rather 
ultra in principle, but it is the only proper ground 
of treatment. Let us first examine and ascertain 
the desired result. Suppose your child does 
wrong, — your first wish is to teach him that the 
act is wrong. Now, having become aware that a 
certain act is wrong, he again commits it. You 
demand obedience. Obedience to what ? To the 
wishes of a parent ; not obedience to a mere blow. 
The obedience desired is from a knowledge of 
right, — not from a mere slavish fear. For if the 
child's obedience be founded upon fear alone, then 
— in the absence^of the cause of that fear, he will 
have no incentive to the obedience ; but, on the 
other hand, if the child's obedience be founded 
upon a knowledge of what is right, then the in- 
centive is always present, — for knowledge once 
attained will always remain, and the child will 
obey because he wants to do so. But a blow never 
created a desire to do right. It may operate to 
the prevention of the overt act, but the same 
feelings which prompted to obedience are still 
there; and rather made more turbulent than other- 
wise. Those feelings in the child's bosom which 
the parent aims to bring into requisition, or at 
least which should be brought into requisition — 
feelings of love and filial duty — are at once sub- 
merged by the baser passions upon the infliction 
of a blow, — and the spirit of resentment is the 
only result. All of us who have children, must 
(if we be kind-hearted) see the folly and wicked- 
ness of thus punishing a child. We are, in fact, 
"answerable," if we so correct him, for all his 
future conduct ; at all events in degree, — Phcebe. 

the police, it is utterly inert and useless as regards 
measures for cleanliness. Oh, that our streets 
could be put into the hands of professed picture- 
cleaners ! How they would revel in " restoring " 
them to their original purity ! Dressed as our 
women are now, of course it is to their interest to 
complain to the shopkeepers. If these latter 
would look to the "contractors," or the parish 
authorities, — then would the matter be set right 
at once. It is sad to see our women splashed as 
they are. They put a bold face on it, I grant ; 
and grumble pretty loudly. But it is they who 
must carry the day after ail. They are just pass- 
able " above," but look at their et infra. Their 
feet, stockings, and dependencies thereto belong- 
ing," are a mere " moving bog." And " who " 
pays for this, my dear sir ? We, — we unhappy 
" heads of houses ! " I was " in town," two days 
lately, — but I soon flew homewards. I was 
agonised at your " goings on." Adieu. Au revoir. 
— Argus, Oxford. 

Travelling by Steam^ round the Planet Uranus. 
— The circumference of the orbit in which Uranus 
revolves about the sun is 11,314,600,000 of miles, 
through which it moves in 30,686 mean solar days, 
or about 84 years; it is the slowest-moving planet 
in the system, and yet it pursues its course at the 
rate of 15,000 miles an hour, Were a steam 
carriage to move round the immense orbit of this 
planet at the continued speed of about thirty miles 
an hour, t would require no less than 64,570 years 
before this ample circuit could be completed ; and 
yet a globe 80 times larger than the earth finishes 
this vast tour in eighty-four years. — Dick. 

How to produce Varieties in Vegetation. — If 
any one wishes to satisfy himself as to the change 
he may produce in many articles of vegetation, by 
selecting the seed from his plants; let him this 
spring plant two rows of bush beans of the same 
sort. On one row pi'eserve the earliest pods that 
appear, removing all which appear afterwards. 
When ripe, let them be gathered and put by them- 
selves. On the other row, preserve those pods 
only which come forth from the stalks late, re- 
moving all the earlier ones. When these are ripe, 
also keep them by themselves. Next spring, 
plant a row of each sort side by side, and you will 
be astonished at the difference. The first ripened 
beans will be as much earlier in bearing than the 
last, as was the difference of time between 
gathering the seed from the two rows planted this 
spring. Nor is this all, the first will be literally 
a bush bean, growing stiff and low; whilst the 
other will send out vines and reach quite high. 
The beans, too, within the pods, as to size, full- 
ness, and even of color, will differ. — Emma D. 

Our London Streets. — Was there ever any thing- 
comparable to the state of our streets in January, 
1854? Never! One dares "swear "it. There 
were scavengers " once upon a time ; " and laws 
for cleanlines" and the proprieties of the trivia 
were enforced by the police. And most properly ; 
for the urbanity of a people ought to be seen in 
more than their personal manners. Dirty streets 
are a rudeness, an incivility to the passengers ; dan- 
gerous streets are an inhumanity. And how easy 
and how salutary would be the reformation of these 
nuisances ! But parishes are remiss, and as for 

Heathenism in London. — I have been com- 
paring notes between the condition of the hea- 
then of London and the heathen of India; and 
I am compelled to say that, contrasted with the 
outrages and wild orgies of Indian heathenism, 
there are lamentable proofs that heathenism is 
actually surpassed in wickedness by the metro- 
polis of England. — Eev. Dr. Duff. 

Statistics of Bailways. — According to a return 
just issued, the mileage of railways, in England is 
5288 miles, 5 furlorgs, and 211 yards; and in 
Wales, 348 miles, 5 furlongs, and 203 yards. Out 
of 8,557,763 acres and 30 perches of land in the 
various parishes of the several counties in 
England, 61,496 acres, 3 roods, and 23 perches 
are occupied by railways; whilst in Wales, out of 
639,427 acres, 2 roods, and 18 perches, 3550 acres 
and 23 perches are occupied by railways. The 
railway companies in England and Wales con- 
tributed towards the poor-rates £187,614 in 1851, 
and £186,539 in 1852 ; while the total amount 
collected in the parishes through which they pass 
amounted to £3.189,135 in 1851, and 3,113,926 
n 1852.— W.T. 


Abused mortals ! Did you know 

Where joy, II eaut's-kase, and comforts grow, — 

You'd scorn proud towers, 

And seek them in these bowers, 

Where winds sometimes our woods perhaps may shake, 

But blustering care could never tempest make, 

Nor murmurs e'er come nigh us, 

Saving of fountains that glide by us 

Sia W. Raleigh. 


We very rarely know before- 
hand upon what subject we are 
going to gossip ; and a few 
minutes, perhaps, suffice to 
prompt us as to what is likely to be well 
received. In this matter, we are Fortune's 
favorite. As our ideas arise, so do we jot 
them down. Fresh from the heart are they ; 
and being " natural," of course they suit the 
readers of Our own Journal. 

" But'" — some may say, " do tell us what 
caused you to write an article with such a 
droll, trite heading." Gladly will we do so. 
A gentleman of the law is answerable for it ! 
Filtering his sanctum one day recently, to 
hold a friendly discourse upon u things in 
general," (there was no " bill of costs " for 
this, — strange as it may appear), we fell a- 
talking about Our Journal among other 
" interesting " topics. 

" What a happy fellow you ought to be 1 " 
remarked our " learned friend." " Why, — 
wherever I go, east, west, north, or south, — 
there do I find your pink, enamelled, blushing 
representative lying on the tables through- 
out the country. Not a room scarcely, in 
any house, but some one of your handiworks 
is to be seen in it ! And in what esteem you 
are held too ! Let me say again, — you 
ought to be a happy fellow." 

A hearty laugh convinced our orator that 
we were both " happy " and jolly ; and there- 
upon issue was joined. A longer conversation 
then followed, deeply interesting to us; and 
the result is visible in the present article. 
Our friend, be it known, is a long-headed 
man; and we value his opinion — the better, 
perhaps, seeing that it was not paid for, but 
the offering of a kindly-disposed heart. 

" Do not," said he, " imagine that anything 
you can write will ever interest the inhabi- 
tants of cities and towns. Their tastes and 
habits are diametrically opposed to yours. 
You profess to despise wealth. They love 
it. You advocate universal kindness and 
benevolence. They laugh at you,. — of course. 
You preach up the doctrine that men should 
live to be useful to one another, and assist 
each other in labors of love. ' Gammon ! ' 
say they. 

" Again, — you work hard, and try to get 

people to ' think.' They say, truly, they have 
no time to think. You woo them to be 
' natural,' and you speak eloquently of the 
advantages derivable therefrom. Believe 
me, my dear fellow, there is nothing 
' natural 1 in towns and cities. Flowers are 
brought into the streets, truly ; and stowed 
away in rooms. If they live, they live ; if 
they die, they die. It is 'fashionable' to 
speak about the ' loveliness ' of flowers, and 
pretend to admire them ; but no citizen ever 
sees any real beauty in them. How should 
he ? His pursuits lay in quite an opposite 
direction. Money, pleasure, dissipation, and 
sleep, are the only gods he worships. 

" As to animals — horses, cats, dogs, birds, 
&c. ; these are indeed introduced as domestic 
fancies and utilities, and become ' fashionably' 
naturalised in cities. And no doubt your 
Journal will be eagerly consulted as to 
their care and management. Self-interest 
will accomplish this ; but look for nothing 
further, or you will be disappointed. 

" No : you have a far deeper game to play. 
You must address yourself, fearlessly as 
ever, to those who live beyond the walls of 
cities. For them, your pen ever has had, and 
ever will have an undying interest. Living 
secluded — apart from constant contact with 
the callous world, they see infinite beauties 
in the work of Creation. Every living thing, 
the most minute, has for them charms 
inexpressible. I speak to a point about 

" You are now progressing nobly, and must 
never attempt to conciliate any persons, 
however great or noble, at the expense of 
the principles you so manfully advocate. 
In the country you are all-powerful. There, 
people can fully estimate the value of your 
sentiments — rejoice in perusing what you 
write— and range with you, book in hand, 
from field to field, from flower to flower. In 
a word, they lead a natural, quiet, peaceable 
life. Full of repose, they have time to 
' think,' and their thoughts, like yours, are 
— 'happy.' " 

Such, in a materially abridged form, was 
the conversation to which we have alluded. 
It has dwelt much upon our mind, — so much 
that we are anxious to let our readers into 
our feelings. 

The gentleman of whom we speak, is of 
necessity " chained" to London, during the 
day. He knows the world in all its bearings, 
and can fathom the human heart to a nicety. 
It is, as he says, " hard," very ; and it be- 
comes even harder, the longer it lives in the 
atmosphere so congenial to its depraved 
habits of life. 

It is quite clear that our mission lies not 
in this direction ; so that if we do good, even 
on the smallest scale, in towns and cities, 
we shall be satisfied. Leisure moments do 

Vol. V.— 5. 



occasionally offer themselves ; therefore let 
us live in hope that some of our remarks 
may pass not altogether unheeded. 

To write systematically about the country, 
— its joys and never-ending pleasures, 
would occupy a lover of nature his whole 
life-time. We would never attempt it. We 
can but speak generally on the subject ; 
and present various pretty pictures, as 
one by one they pass before us. When 
Cowper wrote, — 
" God made the ountry, and man made the town, " 

we can readily imagine what he felt; and 
understand the supreme contempt he enter- 
tained for our Modern Babylon and its gold- 
worshipping inhabitants. His delights were 
ever varying, — pure, rational, innocent, and 
unceasing. None but those who live in 
rural retirement can enter fully into the 
feelings we speak of. 

To be a lover of nature is, as we have 
before shown, to be satisfied with our own 
company, and to be " happy" wherever we 
go. To carry a Heaven, as it were, about 
with us, and to try to make others as happy 
as ourselves. We cannot allow selfishness, 
exclusiveness, or upstart pride, to edge them- 
selves in. A benevolent heart recognises no 
such guests. 

To lose oneself in shady lanes, and to 
wander among sylvan scenery, — keeping 
company with birds, and innocent playful 
animals, — what pleasure can be greater ? 
How lightly do the hours pass, whilst care- 
fully examining the pretty, wee, modest 
heads of wild-flowers springing bashfully into 
life among the hedgerows day after day ! 
Then,the accompaniment of music that awaits 
us as the herald of the sky wings his way to 
Heaven's gate, to record his never-ceasing 
song of praise ! whilst the less aspiring, but 
equally sweet choristers of the grove, join 
in the harmony nearer the earth. 

The season has now arrived when every 
day is unfolding before our eyes pictures of 
unexampled loveliness. The air is fresh. 
The grass is green. Daisies are ornamenting 
with the liveliest, prettiest of patterns, the 
lovely carpets spread everywhere for us to 
walk upon. Trees are awaking from their 
sleep, and busily anxious to make their vernal 
toilet. Flowers, too, are waking into life. 
Buds and blossoms are seen under every wall. 
Our friends, the birds, are singing the Spring 
in. Cornfields are becoming vigorous in 
their growing strength, and tell of " plenty" 
in store. The bee flies abroad to try his 
wings. Insect life begins its pleasing hum. 
Rivulets musically roll over their beds of 
pebble. Fleecy clouds toy with the glorious 
sun. In a word, — Nature, our beloved, idol- 
ised mother, has slept her sleep. She is up 
and " doing. " God bless the work of her 
lovely hands ! 

To enjoy all that now lies before us, may 
appear an easy matter ; but it is not so. It 
is a work of patience and careful study. A 
bracing walk on a fine day is a nice thing, 
and it promotes health. We enjoy it vastly. 
But what we have so briefly hinted at, re- 
quires a heart and soul to investigate it. 
Early and late must we be on the look-out. 
There is always something new coming into 
active life at this season. 

People who make a holiday now and then, 
returning home to come out no more, are not 
lovers of the country. They seek a change 
of scene only, and are satisfied with it. 

They love the country, and none else, who seek 
For their own sake its silence and its shade ; 
Delights which who would leave that has a heart 
Susceptible of pity, or a mind 
Cultured end capable of sober thought ? 

To fall in with people of a genial spirit, 
when rambling in the country (a by no means 
uncommon occurrence in some neighbor- 
hoods), is a little " Heaven upon earth. " 
It is at such times that an escape from the 
polluting influence of cities and towns is esti- 
mated and fully enjoyed. Then indeed can 
we view the grand end for which man was 
created ; and marvel at the sad use he makes 
of the talents given him to trade withal. 
Our mind insensibly falls into a pleasing 
train of thought. Placid ourselves, and 
seeing all nature happy around us, we feel 
grateful for the mercies of which we are 
individual partakers, — we pity those who 
make gold and folly their gods ; and sing 
with the sweet poet in an ecstacy of song, — 

"god made the country 1" 

As for the town, and man who made it, 
— that is a subject on which our pen is not 
now called upon to speak. Art is beautiful. 
Science is noble. Man's ingenuity is great. 
" Honor to whom honor. Praise to whom 
praise is due !" The world is free for all to 
choose what they like best. But give us 
say we, the pure and innocent joys of 


A disorder may for some time be confined to 
a particular organ or member, and scarcely disturb 
the healthy operation of the frame ; but as the 
disorder increases in strength, it extends its in- 
fluence, gradually affecting one function after 
another, till it contaminates the whole system. 
Such is the progress of moral degeneracy. 

The virtues for a time may seem to flourish, 
even with the union of a vice ; but when a vice 
has seized the heart, it becomes the centre of 
morbid sympathy to all the moral affections, and 
finally infects the whole of the moral constitution. 

Vigilantly use the preventive means against 
mental contagion ; for when a moral disease is 
contracted, it naturally advances, and remedial 
treatment is frequently unavailing. 



I dream of Home, and the happy days 

When Fortune smiled on my father's hall ; 
And the cheering sun's resplendent rays 

Danced merrily over the waterfall; 
When the lark — oh, mcthinks I hear it still ! — 

Poured out its praise to the God of day, 
As the music fell on the distant hill 

Where zephyrs were waiting to bear it away! 

I have cherish'd these thoughts, till a fairy spell 

Has wafted me back to my native shore ; 
But the charm dissolved as the warm tears fell, 

For kindred and friends I shall never see more. 
And as I awoke from my reverie, 

I felt a sensation of pleasure and pain; 
Though dear is the name of my home to me, 

I feel I shall never behold it again ! 

I dream of Home, and my steps retrace, 

With ev'ning's dark shadows, the path through 
the vale ; 
And when to the moon's gentle light they give 
My spirit is cheer'd by the sweet nightingale. 
All nature seems hush'd, lest a sweet note be lost; 
Light zephyrs approach, and depart with a 
Unfelt by the light sprays with dewdrops em- 
Unheard save by fairies who pass gaily by. 

Oh, dear are the dreams that so faithfully bring 
The scenes I best love in my bright English 
home ; 
I hear the sweet birds blithely welcome the spring, 
And gaily my merry^bark rides through the 
Yes ; dear was that season of pleasure to me, 
And fondly I've welcomed the soul-stirring 
strain ; 
I am pleased that the scenes come^in'dreams to 
For, alas ! I shall never behold them again ! 

I dream of Home, and again rejoice 

With Nature's fair children that sport on the 
And my welcome is cheer'd by a kind gentle voice 

That calls me her child, — oh ! still, still I see 
The sweet smile she gave. Though the dream 
has since changed, 
Fond memory clings to the scenes we love best; 
When the light step of infancy merrily ranged, 
And^the heart's fondest wishes reposed in her 

The Heralds of Spring are approaching with 
Bright flowers will bloom, — but, alas ! not for 
me ! 
And sweet smiling summer will yield her rich 
While birds sing a welcome from bower and tree. 
Though far, far away from these blessings I roam, 
And the land of my birth I may never more see ; 
I will not repine while my dreams are of Home, 
And my thoughts picture scenes best and 
dearest to me. 


We live to learn. I was not suffi- 
ciently aware of the value of ivy for the pro- 
tection of the feathered race, until I had 
seen the pheasant-preserve of the Grand 
Duke of Tuscany, in the year 1817. It is 
called the Cascini, and it is a kind of Hyde 
Park for the inhabitants of Florence in their 
evening recreations. 

At the grove of the Cascini, you see 
the ivy growing in all its lofty pride and 
beauty. As I gazed on its astonishing luxu- 
riance, I could not help entertaining a high 
opinion of the person, be he alive or dead, 
through whose care and foresight such an 
effectual protection had been afforded to the 
wild birds of Heaven, in the very midst of the 
" busy haunts of men." The trees in this or- 
namented grove are loaded with a profusion 
of ivy, from their lowest to their topmost 
branches; and although crowds of fashionable 
carriages were rolling along the road which 
surrounds this preserve, I saw our common 
pheasant roving through its walks, with a 
confidence little inferior to that of our own 
domestic poultry. As the evening closed in 
upon us, I observed, multitudes of the smaller 
birds resorting to the " ivy-mantled" trees, 
in order to enjoy the proffered convenience 
of nocturnal rest and safety. 

I have profited by what I saw in Tuscany, 
for, on my return to my native place, 1 began 
the cultivation of ivy with an unsparing hand. 
There are two sorts of this ever-verdant plant. 
The one is denominated English, the other 
Irish ivy. Both are exceedingly graceful in 
their foliage ; but the first is by far the better 
bearer of fruit. They will grow on any soil, 
save that of swamp. Whilst the plant is on 
the ground, you have only to cover its long 
runners with a little earth, at intervals of 
four or five inches, and you will soon have 
an abundant supply of ivy for ornament ; and 
for use, as far as the birds are concerned. 
This is a surer way of obtaining plants, than 
by cutting them at once from the climbing 

Ivy can only attain its greatest perfection 
through the intervention of foreign bodies. 
It travels onward in a lowly state upon 
the ground until it reaches some inclined or 
perpendicular object, up which it ascends. 
In due time it then puts out lateral branches, 
and obtains a bole, as though it were a forest 
tree itself. Ivy derives no nutriment from 
the timber tree to which it adheres. It 
merely makes use of a tree or wall, as we 
ourselves do of a walking-stick, when old age 
or infirmities tell us that we cannot do with- 
out it. Should an ancient wall and ivy come 
in contact, they are of great assistance to 
each other. Dyer observed this on Grongar 
Hill :— 



Whose aged walls the ivy creeps, 
And with her arras from falling keeps : 
So, both a safety from the wind 
In mutual dependence find. 

There can be no doubt as to the real source 
from whence ivy draws life and vigor ; from 
the ground alone its maintenance proceeds. 
To be convinced of this, we have only to in- 
spect it n irrowly on a living tree, and then pay 
the sa ne attention to it upon a dead one, or 
upon any stump deprived of vitality. Be 
our eye as keen as that of the lynx, we shall 
not be able to perceive that the one plant is 
more healthy, more vigorous, or more verdant 
than the other; and if we cut through the stock 
of the ivy in either situation we shall see that 
its upper parts will wither and die, down to 
the place through which the knife has 

Some few years ago, a tall sycamore tree 
stood on this island, in a row with four others. 
A remnant of its once line bole still occupies 
the place which the tree adorned in the days 
of its prosperity. An unexpected appearance 
of fungus showed that all was not right 
within ; and, ere long, a gale of wind cut 
the tree nearly in two, sending its head and 
all its branches (saving one), with a colony 
of young jackdaws, down into the lake below. 
The remaining portion of the tree, spared by 
the gale, put out new shoots from every 
part of its circumference. But scarcely had 
these vegetated for four succeeding summers, 
when another immense fungus made its 
appearance about two yards from the trun- 
cated top, and ail vegetation ceased that year, 
down to the part where the fungus had come 
out. Below this, the trunk was still alive ; 
but another fungus, of equal dimensions with 
the last, showed itself about live feet from 
the ground, and deprived the bole of all vege- 
tation upwards. 

At length this sickly remnant of the 
sycamore tree received its final doom ; for, 
some time since, a \ast profusion of fungus 
pushed up its circular cakes even from below 
the surface of the ground ; and on their 
coming to muturity all the living powers 
within this ill-treated tree expired. The 
bole now stands a dead and unproductive 
stump. Any day, a north-west wind, sweep- 
ing across the water, may lay it low for ever. 
Did the ivy, which 1 had planted at the base 
many years ago, depend upon this bole for 
succor, it would now be dead and withered ; 
but, on the contrary, that remaining part of 
it, free from mutilation when the different 
portions of the tree fell down, is now in 
verdure, and in primest vigor ; but as it 
has no longer an opportunity of creeping 
upwards, on account of the misfortunes 
which have befallen the tree, it has assumed 
the form of a bush, with dense and widely- 
spreading foliage. 

An opinion prevails, that ivy not only 
deforms the branch to which it adheres, but 
that it is injurious to the growth of the 
timber itself. My wish for the preservation 
and maintenance of birds urges me on to 
attempt the defence of my favorite plant on 
these two important points. 

The ivy which I planted many years ago 
has now obtained a most luxuriant growth ; 
and, if I may judge by what I see before my 
eyes, I must conclude that ivy is in no way 
detrimental to the tree which has lent it a 
support. Having given ivy to many trees, 
and refused it to others in the immediate 
vicinity, and on the same soil, in order to 
have a good opportunity of making a fair 
examination, I find, upon minute inspection 
of these several trees, that they are all of tine 
growth, and in a most healthy state ; those 
with ivy on them, and those without it, not 
varying from each other in appearance more 
than ordinary groups of forest trees are wont 
to do. Neither is this to be wondered at, 
when we reflect that the ivy has its roots in 
the ground itself, and that it does not ascend 
in spiral progress round the bole and branches 
of the tree ; its leading shoot is perpendicular. 
Hence it is not in a position to compress in- 
juriously the expansive powers of the tree, 
proportionally stronger than its own. Thus 
we find that the ivy gradually gives way be- 
fore them; so that, on removing the network 
(if it may be so called) which the ivy has 
formed on the bole of the tree, we find no 
indentations there. 

But woodbine acts the reverse of this. Its 
process is spiral, and it becomes, as it were, 
an immovable hoop on the plant which it has 
embraced. As the woodbine, by its circum- 
ambient position cannot give way, the plant 
must consequently protrude wherever it is not 
compressed, till at last the woodbine becomes 
nearly buried in it. Thus we account for the 
fantastic form of walking-sticks, which are 
often to be seen at the shop doors of curious 
vendors. The spiral hollows in these sticks 
are always formed by the woodbine, never 
by the ivy. 

Having the workings of the ivy,and those of 
the woodbine daily before my eyes, I venture, 
without wishing to impugn the opinions of 
others, to assert that the latter is injurious, 
and the former not injurious to the plant 
which it has embraced ; and this, by position 
alone ; for, both having their own roots in the 
ground, their nutriment is amply supplied 
from that quarter. 

Ivy, when planted on the eastern part of a 
tree which grows in a high and very exposed 
situation, can scarcely ever reach the opposite 
portion of it, on account of the resistance 
which it meets from the western blast. But 
it will grow well when placed on the western 
side itself ; for, in this position, the west wind 



presses it to the bark of the tree, and thus 
becomes its friend. 1 have a fair example of 
this in my own park. On a bleak brow 
there stands the hollow remnant of an oak, 
which, in the days of its prosperity, measured 
full twenty feet in circumference. Fourteen 
years ago, I planted ivy on its eastern side. 
But to this day, that portion of the bole 
facing the west remains uncovered by the 
ivy, which, in its annual attempt to surmount 
the difficulty, is arrested in its course, and 
ultimately driven back by the fury of the 
western gales. 

If we wish to see ivy growing in all the 
luxuriance of health and beauty, we must 
plant it at the root of some tall Scotch tir, 
in a low and sheltered situation. Nothing 
can be more charming or lovely to the sight, 
than the widely-extending mass of verdure 
with which it will clothe the bole of the tree. 
I have a remarkable Scotch fir here with 
ivy round it. The ivy sends its horizontal 
branches out from the bole to a distance oi 
six or seven feet in vast profusion, and its 
verdure is so perfectly in unison with the 
foliage of the fir. that, when you are standing 
at a little distance, you will be charmed with 
the additional beauty which it confers upon 
its stately supporter. 

I have ever cultivated with great success 
my three favorite evergreens — the yew, the 
holly, and the ivy. They give food and 
shelter to many species of British birds, which 
are so sadly persecuted by gardeners and 
gamekeepers, throughout the whole extent 
of the land. I consider the ivy more service- 
able than the other two, as its berries ripen 
at a season of the year when the ordinary 
food of the fields is far from being plentiful. 
The berries of the holly are abundant at the 
same time, but the birds are not nearly so 
fond of them. 

Without these ever-verdant auxiliaries 
close at hand, I should have but a poor 
chance of observing the habits of our birds 
with satisfaction to myself. Writers on 
ornithology may consult volume after volume 
of other writers on ornithology who have 
gone before them ; and they may extract 
from the pages that which in their judgment 
may appear the best — but unless they them- 
selves have spent years in the field, and those 
consulted have done the same, it is to be 
feared that their labors will fall short of 
their wishes. Errors unintentional, and false 
surmises, and rash speculations will creep 
into their works, in spite of every precaution 
to avoid them. Their production, in truth, 
will be, — 

" similis volucri, — non vera volucris." 

Probably, my statement that ivy is not inju- 
rious to the tree which has lent it a support 
may be at variance with the opinion of those 
who are learned in botany. If so, I beg to say 

that I have living forest trees, of all ages 
and descriptions, to bear me out in what I 
have advanced. 

In conclusion, I wish to say a word or two 
of mutual indentation produced by the union 
of two forest trees. Near the walk which 
leads to the flower-garden may be seen a tall 
English elm and a Scotch fir growing in close 
embrace. By twisting the leading shoot of 
one tree annually round that of the other, 
the trees have become deeply embedded in 
each other's folds. The elm being of stronger 
vegetation than the spruce, I have taken the 
precaution of curtailing the lateral branches 
of the former, lest it should prove too much 
for its weaker partner. 

Walton Hall. 



Everybody talks of the dew which falls ; 
and everybody imagines he knows all about 
it. Yet would he, if pressed for an explana- 
tion, be sadly puzzled to give it. Now, as none 
of us are " too old to learn," let us carefully 
consider the matter. It is just the very sea- 
son to do so. 

To give a popular definition of dew, it will 
suffice to say that, — when the direct influence 
of the sun is removed in the evening, the sur- 
face of the earth, in consequence of the cease- 
less activity of caloric to maintain a state of 
equilibrium, radiates a portion of its super- 
fluous temperature into surrounding space ; 
and as the temperature of the air immediately 
in contact with the surface thus becomes 
reduced below the point of saturation, a part 
of its water is condensed in the form of dew. 

Ever since the time of Aristotle, the phe- 
nomena and cause of this deposition have 
engaged the attention of philosophers ; but 
until comparatively recent experimental in- 
vestigations, all our views on this subject 
were merely speculative. The fact that the 
bodies on which dew is deposited, have inva- 
riably a lower temperature than the ambient 
air, had been pointed out by Dr. Patrick 
Wilson of Glasgow ; but while this coldness 
was supposed to be the effect of the deposition 
of dew, it was reserved for Dr. Wells to 
make the important discovery, that it always 
precedes the formation of dew, and is in reality 
the cause of this aqueous vapor. 

Prior to the appearance of Dr. Wells's 
elegant "Essay on Dew," it was a disputed 
question among philosophers, whether the 
phenomenon is produced by the rising of 
vapors from the earth, or by its descent from 
the atmosphere. The circumstance that the 
glass-bells with which gardeners cover plants 
during the night have, in the morning, their 
interior covered with moisture — gave origin 



it is said, to the opinion that this humidity 
arises from the earth. Dr. Dufay, a French 
philosopher, maintained this opinion, based 
on the following experiment. Taking two 
long ladders, he fixed them so that they met 
at the top and were wide apart at the bottom, 
and attached to the several rounds large panes 
of glass. Observing that the lower surface 
of the lowest pane was first wetted ; then the 
upper, next the lower surface of the one 
above it, then its upper, and so on to the top 
of the ladders, — he deduced the conclusion 
that dew is caused by the exhalation of vapors 
from the earth during the night. 

On the other hand, it was urged, in proof 
of the descent of vapor, that in cloudy 
weather little or no dew is formed. The 
fallacy of both these hypotheses has been 
proved by Dr. Wells, by a most beautiful 
inductive process ; in which he shows that 
dew is produced by the condensation of the 
atmospheric vapor surrounding the bodies on 
which it is deposited. There were other dif- 
ficulties still more perplexing connected with 
the first question — Does the vapor producing 
dew rise or fall ? For example, while some 
substances receive the deposition of dew very 
readily, there are others on which it cannot 
be deposited. 

But every circumstance connected with 
this phenomenon finds the most satisfactory 
explanation in the beautiful theory proposed 
by Dr. "Wells, and now universally adopted 
by philosophers — a theory which depends 
upon two principles, viz., the nocturnal radi- 
ation of caloric and the condensation of invi- 
sible vapor. One important lesson at least 
is taught by the history of these opinions, 
which is, the absolute necessity of basing our 
theories upon authenticated and well- inves- 
tigated experiments, carried out under the 
guidance of legitimate deductions. 

According to the theory of Dr. Wells, there 
are five essential requisites for the deposition 
of dew. 

1. An atmosphere replete with moisture. 
That the moisture must be in excess before 
it can be deposited, is evidenced by the fact, 
that in Egypt no dew is formed when the 
winds blow from the south, over the extensive 
tracts of sandy desert ; but so soon as the 
wind changes to the north, laden with mois- 
ture from the Mediterranean, the deposition 
is remarkably great. 

2. The difference between the temperature of 
the earth in the day and the night must be con- 
siderable. Consequently, the deposition is 
greatest when a sultry day is followed by a 
cool evening ; and, for the same reason, the 
dews are most abundant, in our climate, in 
spring and autumn, as then the difference of 
temperature is greatest. But hot climates 
have more copious dews than temperate 
countries, notwithstanding the difference be- 

tween diurnal and nocturnal temperature may 
be less in the former — a fact that finds an 
explanation in the circumstance, that an in- 
crease of temperature is attended with more 
than a corresponding increase of moisture. 

3. A serene and cloudless s7cy. Notwith- 
standing the atmosphere may be in other 
respects favorable, little or no deposition, if 
the sky is veiled in clouds, occurs ; for, as the 
caloric radiated from the earth i3 reflected 
back by the clouds, the temperature of objects 
on its surface is little diminished. Screens of 
an opaque material, interposed between the 
sky, and the surface of the earth, produced 
the same effect ; and, accordingly, a thermo- 
meter laid on a table, compared with one 
placed on the ground beneath it, indicated a 
lower temperature. Even fogs, which are 
precipitated from the higher air, acting as 
screens, are unfavorable to the deposition of 
true dew, which is separated from the inferior 
atmospheric stratum. 

4. Serene and calm weather. This follows 
from the circumstance, that if the lower 
atmosphere be in violent motion, it will main- 
tain the general temperature of bodies on 
the surface of the earth ; and hence, too, 
every condition which favors radiation, as a 
dark color or a rough surface, contributes to 
the deposition of dew. 

5. The temperature of the body upon which 
the dew is deposited must be considerably lower 
than that of the ambient air. This is the most 
essential requisite. Dr. Wells, in his experi- 
ments, found the bodies on which dew formed 
to be 10° or 15° colder than the atmosphere. 

Different bodies, according to their consti- 
tution, possess different powers of radiation. 
For instance, metals and vitreous substances 
are, in this respect, in very opposite extremes. 
Bad conductors or bad reflectors are, as a 
general law, good radiators ; but the power 
of radiation, as just remarked, depends greatly 
upon the nature of the surface. Hence, a 
piece of wool, or a plate of glass, placed in 
a horizontal position, favors the deposition 
of dew ; but a piece of polished metal will 
retain its lustre, notwithstanding every blade 
of grass around it may be drooping with the 
pressure of condensed vapor. These facts 
lead at once to the deduction, that during 
the night, the temperature of different sub- 
stances varies in accordance with their 
respective powers of radiation and con- 

Thus have these deductions been developed 
by Dr. Wells, in a long series of experiments, 
as conclusive as they are ingenious. His 
admirable work is well worth being consulted 
by every one who takes an interest in phy- 
sical facts as a science, or by the mere prac- 
tical horticulturist. His extensive operations 
have enabled him to apply many useful 
precautions to the cultivation and preserva- 



tion of fruits, flowers, and plants. The 
effect produced by the intervention of a 
substance between the radiating body on the 
surface of the earth and the upper regions of 
the air (which are well known to be the 
abodes of perpetual congelation), has an 
important bearing on horticulture. Even a 
thin wire gauze, suspended over a body which 
readily admits the deposition of dew, will 
suffice to prevent its occurrence. " I had 
often," says Dr. W., " in the pride of half- 
knowledge, smiled at the means frequently 
employed by gardeners to protect plants from 
cold, as it appeared to me impossible that a 
thin mat, or any such flimsy substance, could 
prevent them from attaining the temperature 
of the atmosphere, by which alone I thought 
them liable to be injured. But when I had 
learned that bodies on the surface of the 
earth become, during a still and serene night, 
colder than the atmosphere, by radiating 
their heat to the Heavens, I perceived im- 
mediately a just reason for the practice which 
I had before deemed useless. Being desirous, 
however, of acquiring some precise informa- 
tion on this subject, I fixed perpendicularly, 
in the earth of a grass-plot, four small sticks ; 
and over their upper extremities, which were 
six inches above the grass, and formed the 
corners of a square, the sides of which were 
two feet long, I drew tightly a very thin 
cambric handkerchief. The temperature of 
the grass, which was thus shielded from the 
sky, was upon many nights afterwards ex- 
amined by me, and was always found higher 
than that of the neighboring grass which was 
uncovered, if this was colder than the air." 

The result of an experiment will be vitiated 
as much even by the vicinity of a house or a 
tree, as if a substance were actually inter- 
posed between the surface of the earth and 
the sky. It is well known that, in spots 
shielded by the spreading branches of a tree, 
dew is much less abundantly deposited. 
This fact was not unknown to the immortal 
Milton, who says — 

Full forty days he passed, whether on hill 
Sometimes, anon on shady vale, each night 
Under the covert of some ancient oak, 
Or cedar, to defend him from the dew. 

As dew not unfrequently partakes of the 
sensible qualities of the bodies upon which 
it is deposited, it has sometimes been errone- 
ously confounded with foreign substances. 
" What is termed honey-dew^ says Dr. Traill, 
" generally owes if s qualities to the saccharine 
exudation from the bodies of the insects 
called Aphides. The jelly-dew is believed to 
be the original form of a cryptogamian 
vegetable production, the Tremella nostoc of 
Linnaeus ; a membraneous, pellucid, greenish- 
yellow matter, about one or two inches in 
width, which is at first moist and soft to the 
touch, but dries into a blackish membrane." 


" Come from your eyries, come from your caves," 

To his sons, old iEolus cries : 
" Come with the rush of the ocean waves, 
With a lion's strength and a lion's roar, 
And drive them along the sounding shore, 

And the cloud-rack o'er the skies, 
For your favorite month, the month of the winds, 

March, stormy March, is here ; 
'Tis your gala now — no fetter binds 
Your Bacchanal career. 
Go, then, ye are free 
To hold jubilee ! 
Go, keep your wild orgies, sing in your glee, 
And lord it o'er land and sea ! " 

" Hark ! 'tis our father iEolus calls — 

Come, brothers, up and away ! " 
Stern Boreas shouts. u From our cavern-halls 
In a rolling whirlwind let's hurst on the earth, 
And riot and revel in mischief and mirth 1 

Oh ! is it not a glorious play 
To lash the sea-horses' manes of snow, 

Till they toss the white foam to Heaven ; 
And plunge the proud bark in the gulf below, 
With its timbers all rent and riven ? 
We've rare sport, I trow, 
With the oaken prow, 
When we make the king of the forest how, 
Like a reed, his stately brow r ! " 

" Aye f and better still than 'mid raging floods, 

We'll conquer the oak in his own 
Domain I " cries the treacherous East. " In the 

We'll shake their strong monarch, and hunt him 

And tear from his forehead its branchy crown, 

And topple him off his throne ! 
Come, gentle South ! with thy softest breath 

Tempt the fragile maiden forth ; 
Then away ! and leave our work of death 
To me and the piercing North, 
We'll nip her young bloom, 
As a blight doth consume 
The young rose ; and when we have sealed her 
Sing merrily o'er her tomb ! " 

" Shame ! out on your barbarous revelry ! " 

Mild Zephyrus tenderly sighs ; 
" Stay, gentle South ! and soon follow with me 
To the wreck-strewn ocean, and ravaged wood, 
And enjoy the pure bliss of doing good — 

• Sole pleasure which never dies. 
We'll kiss the pale cheek, undo the fell curse, 

The maid to her lover restore ; 
Smooth the rough billows, the chilled flowera 
And fan them to life once more. 
Thus, — thus we'll prepare 
For our lady fair, 
Sweet April ! scattering balm on the air, 
And blessings everywhere." 


Excess in apparel invariably denotes a fool, whether 
in man or woman. The very " trimmings" of the vain 
world would clothe all the naked ones. 




Thou art a might}' leveller, in sooth, 
And in the twinkling of an eye canst slay 
More marshalled foes with thy two-edged sweep, 
Than Sampson in a century could fall. 

There seems to be an inveterate propen- 
sity in all the animate creation to be always 
making a noise during their waking hours. 
And verily a good portion of the said creation 
cannot remain quiet even in sleep ; but in 
their dreams keep snoring and babbling at such 
a rate, that a blind man would rind it difficult 
in their society to tell when it was time to 
go to bed. 

Whether this continued infringement on 
the sober propriety of silence be the result 
of habit, or some mysterious influence ope- 
rating on the passions, it is not easy to de- 
termine. It is not improbable, however, that 
such a principle exists. We know that 
gravitation controls and approximates eveiy 
particle of matter, however remote or dis- 
similar ; and why may not the principle of 
sympathy have a like influence upon every 
individual mind throughout the universe ? 

Now, on the supposition that this is so, 
and that the theory of the ancients with 
regard to sphere-music is correct, which tells 
us that every orb has its individual and ap- 
propriate melody, which, blending with the 
music of all the others, forms the harmony 
of creation — we can plausibly account for the 
said propensity among the inhabitants of this 
mundane sphere. For man being an .imitative 
animal, and very susceptible of outward im- 
pressions, cannot remain silent while all 
nature is lifting up its voice around him. On, 
what a noisy fellow a man is ! In the theatre 
he shouts, hisses, or whistles ; and in Par- 
liament he yells and imitates cats as well as 
dogs. He must be heard, somewhere. He 
loves the sound ©f his own voice. 

Apropos of sound ; there is a sort of 
cacoethes imitandi which infests the tongue of 
every living thing. It is not confined to man 
alone, but to the lower animals also ; and you 
may notice it, whenever you please, in the 
country. It is really delightful to go out 
into the fields of a summer morning just as 
the day is breaking. At first all is still, 
except the low dreamy sound of unfolding 
yegetation, which is for ever stealing forth, 
even in the deepest retirement of nature. 
By-and-by, as the dawn advances, the voice 
of some wakeful chanticleer breaks in upon 
the stillness with a clear and silvery cadence, 
— like the first note of a clarionet heard at 
evening far away upon the waters ; and before 
its last echo has expired. a response comes ring- 
ing back from every " harem " in the valley. 
Presently the robin commences his plaintive 
but eccentric song, to be answered by his 
mate in the neighboring coppice. Bird after 
bird breaks in, till every grove is vocal with 

the mingled matin. Crow calls to crow from 
the distant pine tops, and eagle screams to 
eagle from opposite mountain peaks. 

Now the prime minister in the great dia- 
pason of sound which rules our universe, is 
the tongue — that apparently most insignificant 
of all organisations. Place thy mirror before 
thee, gentle reader, and examine it atten- 
tively. Is it not a puny part and parcel of 
humanity? Verily there appertains to it 
nothing of the os hominis sublime. It hath 
neither the rose-tint of the lip, nor the fair 
beauty of the cheek, nor the fearless bearing 
of the nose, nor the soul-speaking expression 
of the eye, nor the princely grandeur of the 
lift -d brow. It is a little squab, brandy- 
colored, unsymmetrical, and unpoetical per- 
sonage, without either dignity or comeliness. 
The novelist gives you page after page about 
the silken lashes, the radiant orbs, the glossy 
locks, and the polished forehead of his 
heroine ; but never does he waste a syllable 
on the form or feature of her tongue. The 
fact is, it is too prosaic for the dalliance of 
his imagination ; and, besides, he is aware 
that should he throw about it all the charms 
which fancy can accumulate, the world would 
set him down as a visionary, and assert out- 
right, that though her face may be as beautiful 
as a peri's, her tongue can be no better than 
it should be. Being one of those common- 
place objects which experience has always 
found insignificant, it cannot be dignified by 
tropes, nor exalted by high-sounding epithets. 
Indeed, a simile would be utterly lost upon 
it, if used to illustrate its shape rather than 
its abilities ; for I know of nothing within 
the whole circle of existence, to which it can 
be compared with the least shadow of 

In form, the tongue is a physical anomaly, 
a material nondescript,without "kith or kin ;" 
and whoever should attempt to classify it 
with any known species of objects, would 
manifest as much reason in the undertaking, 
as the idiot displayed wiien he set about 
climbing a sapling to get a better view of the 
stars. It seems as if Nature was ashamed of 
her work, or why has she taken such pains 
to hide it from observation ? For what other 
possible purpose than as a concealed place 
of banishment for this unsightly member, 
could she have formed the mouth — that hor- 
rible excavation in the " human face divine," 
whose abyss has engulfed more fortunes than 
the Norwegian maelstrom ? There she has 
secreted it, "squat like a toad;" within a 
double bastion of teeth, and a two-fold 
curtain of lips ; and there, like the sibyl of 
Delphos, invisible and in darkness, it 
fashions its intrigues, and utters its varied 

With all these defences, however, the 
tongue is the most consummate coward in 



the world. Though the prime mover of all 
contentions, it is never found in the van of 
the battle. Like a puny yet quarrelsome 
companion, it is ever bringing its fellow- 
members into jeopardy by its bickering pro- 
pensities ; but the moment they are attacked, 
it seeks its own safety, and leaves them to 
get off as they can. Oh, how aggravated 
will be its reckoning with the nose, for the 
multiplied mishaps it has occasioned that 
august personage ! How greatly is it in- 
debted to that magnanimous go-between for 
the claret and carbuncular protuberances, lost 
and won in its defence ! And how striking 
is the contrast between the bold manly 
bearing of the one, and the shameful pusil- 
animity of the other ! 

If the nose offend by a scornful contemp- 
tuous corrugation, there is no skulking, no 
manoeuvring to elude consequences; all is 
fair, open, dignified. It stands forth un- 
daunted, schooled to suffer with the fortitude 
and equanimity of a martyr. Not so the 
tongue It seems to consider that the glory 
of a warrior does not consist in the accumu- 
lation of scars, but in the multitude of re- 
treats he has effected ; and therefore it always 
makes the most of an opportunity to escape. 
In this it reminds me of a schoolmate of mine, 
a peevish, impudent, brawling little stripling, 
who was continually abusing his fellows, 
but was never known to right ; for if they 
attempted to chastise his insolence, he flew 
to his father's door-step, and, whenever 
any of them approached, he whipped in, 
turned the bolt, and remained secure till the 
storm had subsided. 

Though deficient in the endowment of 
personal beauty and genuine courage, the 
tongue is not wanting in utility, — the cha- 
racteristic virtue of the age. It possesses all 
the essentials of a steam-engine, with in- 
finitely more power to the square inch ; and 
at the same time, requires no expense to keep 
it always in repair. There is no loss by 
friction; no wear and tear of material. 
Year after year it runs on uninjured, (would 
that I might add uninjuring !) with the most 
reckless and untiring perseverance. The 
hand and foot, the eye and ear, become 
wearied by continual action, and require rest 
to recover their exhausted energies ; but the 
tongue never falters nor faints from the 
longest exertion— the most overtasked per- 
formances of its functions. It appears to be 
free from the physical weaknesses of the 
other members, and to gain strength and 
suppleness in proportion to the severity of 
its use. Without this diminutive and ap- 
parently insignificant organ, life would be 
nothing but a pantomime, civilisation would 
retrograde, and, in the lapse of a century, I 
have little doubt that Lord Monboddo's 
theory of a tailed humanity would be literally 

realised. Annihilate the tongue, and sonnets 
and serenades, novels and tragedies, would 
be forgotten ; the memory of glorious Shak- 
speare would pass away ; and instead of real 
thorough-going sentimental courtships, man- 
kind, like birds, would have their pairing 
time — their St. Valentine's day. 

The activity of the tongue is truly astonish- 
ing — the rapid flash of the eye cannot be 
compared with it. If you do not believe me, 
just listen to the pronunciation of a fluent 
Frenchman. The words fall from his lips 
like the quick drops of a shower ; so swift 
and continuous that it is an impossibility to 
count them. Yet these are all modulated 
in some measure by the tongue ; and in 
Spanish, where almost every letter is sounded, 
the celerity of movement which this organ 
evinces, must surpass that of any other 
muscular action with which we are ac- 

It is related, in one of Decatur's battles, 
that some of his guns were discharged a 
dozen times during a minute ; yet what is 
this to the glossal ordnance of an offended 
woman? It is like the snail-pace of the 
sloth to the lightning-speed of the antelope, 
when compared with the hurried volleys of 
such a battery. Why — I should rather have 
been in the front rank at Lodi, than stand in 
the point-blank of an angry Xantippe's facial 
artillery 1 . -yy p^ 


Oh ! I love, I love the beautiful Spring, 

When leaves and plants are growing ; 
When the joyous birds in the greenwoods sing, 

And gales o'er the hills are blowing. 
And I love, I love the musical note 
Of waters that swift through the valleys float, 

Their way to the far sea taking ; 
My spirit it thrills with a holy thought, 
And my heart with a gentle love is fraught, 

Amid the young Year's waking. 

Oh ! I love, I love the beautiful Spring, 

When morn is newly beaming, 
And the larks aloft on their missions wing, 

Their praise through the ether streaming ; 
And I love, I love the freshening breeze, 
The lowing herds, and the green, green trees, 

And the fields of glistening flowers. 
The sun rejoices o'er valley and stream, 
The mountains he tips with a golden beam, 

And lights the budding bowers. 

Oh ! I love, I love the beautiful Spring 

When day is calmly closing, 
And the flowers abroad their fragrance fling, 

On the twilight air reposing. 
And I love, I love from the hawthorn tree 
The gush of the nightingale's melody, 

While the moonbeams quiet are sleeping — 
When peace like a veil o'er the landscape lies, 
And the earth smells sweet as the balmy aides 

Their dew-drop tears are weeping. 





( Concluded from Page 8.) 

I have already spoken of the Agave 
Americana that blossomed in 1774. It was 
not until 1842 that another flowered in the 
same grounds; this stood in the same 
place as the first, and was a very beautiful 
object. At one end of the house is a small 
recessed wall, containing several thriving 
orange, lemon, and citron trees, which are 
covered with fruit ; and there are many other 
fine trees on the grounds. 

This place presents the appearance of being 
built on the top of a succession of terraces. 
Behind the house, the hill is clothed with a 
plantation of firs ; amongst which a castel- 
lated building, about thirty feet in height, 
surmounted by a flagstaff, and used as a 
summer-house, is erected. This adds much 
to the beauty of the place. Closely adjoin- 
ing Cliff House is Cliff Cottage, at present 
occupied by the incumbent of Salcombe. It 
is a pretty object ; consisting of three bows, 
in front of which is a colonnade. It has a 
neat garden and fine view from its windows ; 
but there are no plants or trees of any par- 
ticular value. 

Just at the entrance of Cliff Cottage 
begins the town of Salcombe, which consists 
of a main street, half a mile in length, con- 
taining many excellent shops, and crossed at 
right angles by various other streets. It is 
a neat thriving town, containing about 2,000 
inhabitants ; and is rapidly improving. There 
is a Mechanics' Institute, a market-house, 
and a public room, which are formed out of 
an old chapel — a building erected in 1801, 
and licensed by the Bishop, but which would 
not contain more than 250 persons, in con- 
sequence of this, and the rapid increase of 
inhabitants, it was found necessary to build a 
new church, which was done in the years 
1841 and 1844 (in the same year it was con- 
secrated), by the indefatigable exertions of 
the Rev. Thos. Young, the then incumbent, 
assisted by the principal inhabitants and 
landowners in the neighborhood. It stands 
at the north-east end of the town, and is a 
handsome edifice in the early English style. 
It contains a fine organ, a handsome-carved 
font and pulpit, and is capable of seating 
between six and seven hundred persons. It 
has a large churchyard, tastefully planted, 
and surrounded by a strong stone wall. 

During the building of the church, two 
commodious National School-Rooms were 
erected, capable of containing all the children 
belonging to the parish ; and which, stand- 
ing on the hill above the town, form a 
great ornament to the place. The town is 
well provided with quays, on one of which is 

the custom house and residence for the person 
in charge. There are three shipbuilders' 
yards, which are constantly at work, from 
which some of the finest vessels engaged in 
the fruit trade — of which a large fleet belong 
to the place — are constantly being launched. 
These vessels are highly renowned for their 
quick voyages, and are principally chartered 
by London merchants. Lately, several fine 
vessels of from five to six hundred tons 
burthen have been built here ; and orders for 
these vessels seem to be on the increase. 
The place is possessed of considerable trade ; 
and even in the years 1G44-5, the customs 
duties in the port amounted to £5,000. These 
particulars are derived from the original 
account signed by Sir Edmund Fortescue, 
and preserved with the family archives. 

A minute investigation made in the year 
1841, shows that the exports and imports 
amounted to the sum of half a million an- 
nually. From the west end of the town a 
road is cut, which winds along the edge of 
the cliffs, and crossing the sands, terminates 
at the southern extremity of the Bolt Head. 
This road, owing to its facing the south, forms 
a delightful promenade, and is possessed of 
one of the finest views that can be conceived. 
Amongst the fish to be obtained at this 
place, may be included nearly every variety 
that is known on the British shores ; whilst 
crabs, lobsters, prawns, shrimps, and oysters 
— together with that delicious bivalve the 
scallop (so little known in general), are at 
times more abundant in this harbour than 
perhaps anywhere else. There is an ample 
supply of excellent water in the place, fur- 
nished by a large reservoir, in which a spring 
is constantly rising, and led into the town by 
means of pipes. 

There are several good inns and lodging- 
houses in the place, which in the summer are 
usually well filled. In this town is brewed a 
liquor called " White 'Ale," which can only 
be obtained in this neighborhood. It has 
much of the appearance of egg-flip ; and is a 
favorite beverage amongst the hard-working 
part of the population. The same course is 
pursued in brewing it as for ordinary beer ; 
excepting that, at a particular stage of the 
process, a certain composition is put into the 
wort which turns it white, and in a few days 
it becomes fit to drink. The manufacture of 
the composition above mentioned, which is 
called " Grout," is only known to one person, 
who resides in the town of Kingsbridge, at 
the head of the estuary, in whose family it 
has been preserved as an inviolable secret 
for many generations ; and all inkeepers, 
prior to brewing this ale, are obliged to send 
to this person for the quantity of " grout " 
they require. 

From some old papers, still preserved in 
the church at Kingsbridge, bearing the date 

1528, we find mention made of this ale ; and 
what is elsewhere called ale is here denomi- 
nated beer; and the term ale is applied to this 
beverage, which is "par excellence " the ale 
of this part of the world. In the parish of 
Dodbrooke, which is noticed as the first place 
where this white ale was brewed, closely ad- 
joining the town of Kingsbridge, a tithe, 
strangely established in former times, is paid 
by all inkeepers who brew this beverage to 
the Rector. It has been gradually raised 
from tenpence, until it has reached the sum 
of£l. Is. The bread made with the yeast 
which works off this white ale, is most excel- 
lent, and is not to be equalled in any part of 
England. It is never bitter, and will keep a 
long time without becoming dry. 

Within a few miles round Salcombe are 
some of the finest orchards in the world ; 
and from this place many hundred pipes of 
excellent cider are annually exported to 
London, Bristol, Liverpool, and other large 
towns ; what becomes of it when there would 
be very difficult to say, for I have tried nearly 
every place in London where cider is sold to 
obtain some at all resembling that which 
leaves Salcombe — always without success ; 
though possibly the various wine merchants 
who sell champagne could throw a little light 
on the subject, if they were so disposed. 

There are six handsome smacks belonging 
to this place, which are constantly employed 
in supplying the London markets with 
lobsters and crayfish, obtained from the west 
coast of France. They are chiefly owned by 
two brothers, whose industry and perse- 
verance are repaid by a great demand for 
their fish, and a rapidly increasing trade. 

Leaving the town and harbour (which 
latter is here about a mile in width), the 
estuary takes a sharp bend round some high 
land to the northward ; and thence continues, 
in nearly a straight line, to within a mile of 
the town of Kingsbridge, which is situated 
about five miles from Salcombe. A mile 
above the bend just mentioned, is an exten- 
sive sand-bank, called the " Dentridge,'' 
which is only uncovered at the ebb, when 
extraordinarily low. This occurs about once 
a year. Sometimes it is not uncovered for 
several years ; and then only remains dry a 
few minutes. On this bank are found the 
Solen Ends and Vagina, and many rare and 
valuable shells. 

A few hundred yards to the eastward, and 
further up the estuary, is a large islet or rock 
called the Saltstone, which is barely covered 
at high water. The late Colonel Montague, 
F.L.S. and F.W.S., the naturalist (author of 
the " Ornithological Dictionary," 'Testacea 
Britannica," &c. &c), in digging on this islet, 
discovered the Ampldtrite Infundibulum, 
which he fully described in the ninth volume 
of the " Transactions of the Linnean Society. ' ' 

In the same volume, he mentions some inte- 
resting additions he made to the British 
Fauna. Among the Crustacea, he* particu- 
larises Cancer Astacus Subterraneus, a new 
and curious species, discovered in digging 
for Solen Vagina, at a depth of two feet 
below the surface. This gentleman resided 
at Kingsbridge for nearly sixteen years, and 
made the greatest part of his collection of 
valuable and rare birds, and other animals, 
in this estuary. On his death (which was 
caused by lockjaw, produced from stepping 
on a rusty nail in 1815), his collection was 
purchased for upwards of eleven hundred 
pounds, by W. E. Leach, Esq., M.D. and 
F.R.S., for the British Museum, where it 
very properly now forms part of that ex- 
tensive national assemblage of curiosities. 

In this part of the estuary, many rare 
and valuable birds are frequently met with; 
and a gentleman residing in Kingsbridge 
has made a very good collection of the most 

Proceeding up the estuary, we arrive at 
the town of Kingsbridge, which is clean 
and tolerably well built. In the parish of 
Dodbrooke, which is only separated from 
Kingsbridge by a small stream of water that 
flows beneath the pavement, was born John 
Wolcot, Esq., M.D., the celebrated satiric 
and lyrical poet (better known as " Peter 
Pindar "). He received his education at 
the grammar school at Kingsbridge, and 
became an M.D. at the University of Aber- 
deen. He has the merit of having brought 
into notice John Opie, R.A., the celebrated 
portrait painter. In the town of Kingsbridge 
is the well-known Free Grammar School, 
founded in 1670 by John Crispin, who was 
born there in 1607-8. In the year 1691, 
Mr. William Duncombe, the first master 
of this school, appointed by Crispin himself, 
left fifty pounds per annum to a lecturer, 
who was to preach once on a Sunday, as 
well as once a month on a week day in 
the parish church. He also left ten pounds 
a year to three poor scholars, who should 
be educated at the free school in this town ; 
to be enjoyed by them for four years, and 
help to maintain them whilst at Oxford or 
Cambridge. The school has been lately 
rebuilt. There is a shipwrights 1 yard be- 
longing to some of the inhabitants ; but it 
is not much employed. The scenery here 
is very inferior to that round Salcombe and 
the seacoast. Salcombe and Kingsbridge 
are reached from the Kingsbridge Road 
Station, on the South Devon Railway ; and 
the scenery, &c, will repay the tourist for 
the trouble of a visit. 

C. F. T. Y. 

Stockleigh Pomeroy, Crediton," 'Devon, 
February 20. 





How many lovely things we find 
In earth, and air, and sea, — 

The distant bells upon the wind, 
The blossom on the tree ! 

But lovelier far than chime or flower 

A valued friend in sorrow's hour. 

Sweet is the carol of a bird 
When warbling on the spray, 

And beautiful the moon's pale beam 
That lights us on our way ; 

Yet lovelier Friendship's look and word 

Than moonlight, or than warbling bird. 

How prized the coral and the shell, 

And valued too the pearl ; 
Who can the hidden treasures tell 

O'er which the soft waves curl ? 
Yet dearer still a friend to me 
Than all in earth, or air, or sea. 


It is remarkable how exactly similar 
are the habits and propensities of birds of 
the same tribe or family, though of a different 
species. Thus the Jays of North America 
are of various sorts, entirely differing from 
our English Jays in parts, or the whole of 
their plumage ; and yet in their manners 
scarcely a difference is observable. It is a 
curious fact, that these and some other birds 
will just keep out of the range of gun-shot, 
as if they had learned, either from experience, 
or by some unknown mode of communication 
from their older companions, that, provided 
they never allowed a shooter to come within 
a given distance, they were quite safe. But 
the American Jays we are speaking of, have no 
such knowledge, founded upon experience ; 
as is fully proved by the account of an 
English officer, who was travelling in a 
very wild, unfrequented part of North 
America, where no gunners had ever gone 
before him, and no Jay could therefore have 
ever learned the proper distance to keep, in 
order to ensure its safety. Yet there they 
were, exactly like our common English Jays ; 
shy and cautious, as if they had been hunted 
by sportsmen every day of their lives ; 
keeping at a certain distance, with that occa- 
sional clatter and chattering so well known 
to those who have patiently and perseveringly 
pursued from copse to copse, or tree to tree, 
a disturbed party of these cunning birds. 

At the same time, certain birds of similar 
habits will naturally, under peculiar circum- 
stances, act very differently ; we have an 
instance of this, in the singular departure 
of the Magpie from its usual custom of build- 
ing its nest. Everybody knows that where 
trees abound, that which is loftiest, or most 
difficult of access, is chosen ; but in parts 

where there are no trees, instead of retiring 
to high rocks, and choosing places not essily 
approached, tin y will take possession of 
bushes close to ine very doors of houses, — 
particularly in those countries where, instead 
of being persecuted, they are preserved, from 
an opinion that it is unlucky to kill them. 
Accordingly, in Sweden and Norway, travel 
lers are struck by their surprising numbers 
and tameness ; their nests being built in some 
low bushy tree close to the cottage doors, 
where they are never disturbed. 

The following instance, which fell under 
the observation of a gentleman when making 
an excursion in a remote and barren part of 
the north of Scotland, not only corroborates 
the statement from Norway and Sweden, but 
is attended wi h many other interesting 
particulars of the sagacity shown by a pair 
of Magpies. Observing them hopping round 
a gooseberry-bush, and flying in and out of 
it in an extraordinary manner, he noticed the 
circumstance to the owners of the house in 
which he was, who informed him that as there 
were no trees in the neighborhood, they had 
for several years budt their nest, and brought 
up their young in that bush. And that 
foxes, cats, hawks, &c, might not interrupt 
them, they had barricaded not only the 
nest, but the bush itself all round, with briars 
and thorns, in a formidable manner. The 
materials in the inside of the nest were soft, 
warm, and comfortable to the touch ; but all 
round on the outside, so rough, strong, and 
firmly entwined with the bush, that, without 
a hedge-knife, or something of the kind, even 
a man could not, without much pain and 
trouble, get at their young ; the barrier from 
the outer to the inner edge being above a 
foot in bieadth. Frogs, mice, worms, or 
anything living, were plentifully brought to 
their young. 

One day, one of the parent-birds attacked 
a rat ; but not being able to kill it, one of the 
young ones came out of the nest and assisted 
in its destruction, which was not finally 
accomplished till the other old one. arriving 
with a dead mouse, also lent its aid. The 
female was observed to be the most active 
and thievish, and withal very ungrateful ; 
for although the children about the house 
had often frightened cats and hawks from 
the spot, yet she one day seized a chicken 
and carried it to the top of the house to eat 
it, where the hen immediately followed, and 
having rescued the chicken, brought it safely 
down in her beak ; and it was remarked that 
the poor little bird, though it made a great 
neise while the Magpie was carrying it up, was 
quite quiet, and seemed to feel no pain, while 
its mother was c irrying it down. These 
Magpies were supposed to nave been the 
very same pair -which had built there for 
several years: never suffering either the 



young, when grown up, or anything else, to 
take possession of their bush. The nest 
they carefully fortified afresh every Spring, 
with rough, strong, prickly sticks, which 
they sometimes drew in with their united 
forces, if unable to effect the object alone. 

To this lameness and familiarity the 
Magpie will sometimes add a considerable 
degree of courage ; and not satisfied with 
driving away intruders from its premises, 
has been known to attack animals much its 
superior in size. One of them was seen 
pursuing a full-grown hare, making frequent 
and furious pounces upon it ; from which the 
animal at last escaped only by making for a 
thick hedge, at the other side of which it ran 
off to some distance from the place where it 
had entered, without being observed by its 
pursuer. No cause could be assigned for this 
A favorable trait in their character occurred 
in Essex, where some boys, having taken 
four young ones from a Raven's nest, placed 
them in a wagon in a cart-shed. About the 
same time, they happened to destroy the 
young of a Magpie, which had built its nest 
near the cart-shed ; when the old Magpie, 
hearing the young Ravens cry for food, 
brought some, and constantly fed them till 
they were given away by the boys. 

Generally speaking, says Dr. Stanley, these 
birds prefer our northern climates, though 
they are plentifully spread over the world. 
In some spots they are, however, very scarce, 
without any apparent reason. Thus, a 
traveller, who had been through Turkey, 
remarked that he never saw a single bird of 
this species, and had seen very few indeed in 
the*adjoiriing countries. 



Take hack, dear maid ! the blushing flowers 

Thy gentle fingers placed in mine, 
Ere they recall the vanished hours 

When I was cheered by smiles of thine. 
Take hack — take back thy only gift 

From which my memory ne'er shall part, 
For, oh ! behave me, it hath left 

A lasting impress on my heart. 

Take back, dear maid ! the fatal prize 

That still reminds my heart of thee, 
And bids me love those searching eyes, 

Mine own, perhaps, no more may see. 
Still, let no other fingers press 

The gift, thine pi'essing, made their own, 
And I in after years will bless 

The love that leaves me now alone. 

Take back thy gift, and if, dear maid ! 

Thou wouldst one rapture still bestow, — 
Then let that rapture be conveyed 

In bidding Hope's sweet waters flow. 
Whate'er my fate in after years, 

Though scathed by stern Misfortune's blast, 
My heart, enbalmed in hidden tears, 

Shall he thv monument at last. 

" Why do you take so much care of that 
old patchwork quilt, mamma ? " said Julia 

Y to her mother, as they sat at work 

together one afternoon. 

'* Because, my dear, I value it highly. It 
proves that there is still some gratitude left 

in the world," replied Mrs. Y ; "and if 

you will listen to me, I will tell you the 
history of it. 

" In the town of S , in the county of 

Devon (where you know we resided for many 
years), lived an old woman, who had once 
seen better days ; but her husband had 
dropped down dead on board the small 
vessel he was master of, and she was left 
entirely dependant on her own exertions for 
support. Her two children were both 
fortunately grown up. The son was a sailor ; 
and the daughter had married a carpenter, 
who lived in town, and had a young and 
rapidly increasing family to provide for. 

"Poor Sally S (for that was her 

name) had been post-woman for some 
years; and regularly carried the letters 
between the town of S - ■■ and the post town 

of K , daily ; but for a few years she had 

used a boat. She managed this so skilfully, 
and was such an excellent sailor, that she not 
only conveyed the letters, but also passengers 
and parcels daily between the two towns; and 
so great was their confidence in her integrity 
and skill, that she used to take large sums 
of money to and from the banks in the 
market town, for many of the inhabitants of 

S ; and many persons preferred going in 

her boat to any of the others that daily plied 
between S and K — — . 

"It happened that a very old acquaintance 
of Sally's, who had shared her small cottage 
for some years, died, and left her the little 
trifle she possessed. To obtain this, advice 
and assistance were of course necessary ; and 
in all her difficulties your papa was the 
person she applied to. As clergyman of the 
parish he was happy and ready to give his 
assistance to all who solicited it. The pre- 
sent case was attended with a good deal of 
trouble. Documents were to be procured, 
copied, and forwarded to various parties ; and 
ultimately the will had to be " proved." All 
this was satisfactorily managed. The little 
money was obtained, and put into Sally's 
possession ; your papa of course positively 
refusing to accept any fee or remuneration 
for what had been to him a pleasure. This 
made poor Sally feel very uncomfortable. 
She could not reconcile to herself the idea 
of not paying for what had been done for 

" One evening, a short time after this 
event, I was informed by one of the servants 



that Sally S wished to speak to me ; but 

it must be in private. 1 immediately sent 
for her into the dining-room ; and on my 
entering, she burst into tears. She hoped I 
would not think she had taken a liberty, but 
she could not rest until she had shown her 
feelings in some other way than by words, 
for the service your papa had rendered her ; 
she must implore and intreat that I would 
do her the favor to accept a patchwork quilt, 
which she had begun in her youth, and oc- 
casionally added to. She entreated that it 
might be used on the bed of my eldest son, 
then a boy of five years (now the writer of 
this), that I might, when I looked at it, 
think of her, and say ' there is at least one 
grateful person in the world, and that is poor 
Sally S- ! ' 

" I did accept her proffered gift, and that 
same quilt has covered all my children in 
succession. How frequently, when in sick- 
ness, has poor Sally volunteered to fetch the 
medicines at any hour of the night — and on 
several occasions been rewarded on entering 
the sick room by seeing her own quilt on the 

" Some years ago, poor Sally was seized 
with an apoplectic fit ; and as your papa was 
passing along the street, he found her lying 
speeehless on the ground with the letters in 
her hand (she was just about to deliver 
them). He assisted to get her to her home, 
and was afterwards a constant attendant on 
her. This appeared to give her great satis- 
faction, until she breathed her last ; though, 
poor creature, she was unable to express her 
feelings ! 

" A few days subsequently, your papa 
buried her by the side of her husband, over 
whom he had also performed the same solemn 
service only a few years before. I shall 
never forget poor Sally's gratitude, and shall 
preserve that quilt as long as I live." 

C. F. T. Y. 

StocJdeigh Pomeroy, Devon. 


The laughing earth hath gleams of mirth 

To hearts that, heedful, mind them : 
'Tis only those who dream of woes 

That are most sure to find them. 
A wiser plan 'twould be for man 

To wear the cap of folly, 
Than pass through life the prey of strife, 

Or slave to melancholy. 

Then laugh who will there's plenty still, 

In this bright world to cheer us ; 
'Tis friendly smiles our thoughts beguile, 

'Tis love to home endears us. 
The heart can rise to summer skies, 

Though winter's snows be gathered ; 
Let mirth prevail where care assails, — 

Then every storm is weathered! 

■C. s. 


It was a beautiful May morning, — the 
first of May in the year of grace forty-four 
— when the Naturalists' Club assembled at 
Etal, the loveliest village of our plain. So 
gay and happy with its parterres and green 
lawn, and broad walks, and trees, and ruins, 
and the hall, that I ween a prettier village 
may not well be seen anywhere. It does 
one good to visit that florulent village. The 
zephyr, too, full of fragrance, that came 
upon us, sunning from a thousand blossoms, 
gave a whet to the appetite ; and the call 
to breakfast hurried us from these aerial 
essences to a substantial fare. The hearty 
and social meal over, we again sallied fortli 
to saunter a-field, amid such wildnesses as 
modern agriculture permits, — in meadows 
and woods, in brakes and deans, and 

By shallow rivers, to whose falls 
Melodious birds sing madrigals. 

Away we went — all chatting — few listen- 
ing, — the admiration of every ruddy-cheeked 
lass, and the wonder of every Colin Clout, — 
a queer group, as pied in dress, and cast 
in as many characters as a strolling 
company ; the clerical suit of sober black 
mellowed and relieved by the freckled and 
chequered sporting jackets that suit so well 
this holiday. The village is left ; and the 
lane leads us, by an abrupt turn, down to 
the rat-rattling mill, — all grey and dusty, 
and quite a picture. There was the lusty 
miller, leaning on the half-shut door, eyeing 
us complacently; while the two cats that 
bask at his feet seemed to be half alarmed 
at the novel rout. 

How hurriedly the water runs from 
beneath that heavy revolving wheel, as if it 
were glad to have escaped from thraldom 
and from under the wheel of torture ; and 
how does the eye seek relief from the pain- 
ful image in the caul beyond, over which the 
river rolls itself, in a round and oily wave, 
into the linn beneath, — where, fretted by the 
fall, it ruffles itself into a white foam, and 
murmurs (not loud and scarcely displeased) 
at the accident and delay ! After a short 
whirling play, the water goes on in a smooth 
and placid flow. This, after a space, 
quickens into a tumbling, battling stream ; 
as if suddenly become conscious that it had 
dallied here too long, and must make up for 
the lost time. 

"We take the hint, and we start to follow 
the river, leading by a pathway, which the 
inscription, carved on a rock in rustic fashion, 
informs us was made by my Lord Frederick 
Fitzclarence, — not for our ease, who are all 
too regardless of a trespass. So onward we 
saunter, changing companions as whim and 
chance dictate, — now in front, now lost in 



the rear,— now plucking a new variety 
of flower,— and now entrapping the gorgeous 
insects that flit about everywhere. 

The. air is full of life ; but 'twas unlucky 
to be so engaged just at this particular 
moment ; for I cannot participate in that 
laugh which some story of Douglas' has 
provoked, and I lost the fun too for the sake 
of a fly that I have not captured ! Onwards 
again — and now the wood is passed, when 
we cross, with a quicker pace, the open 
fields, and scarcely tarry at the queer little 
house and mill, which is sunk as it were in 
the bank over which the road is carried. 
But we greet the good woman who stands 
there with her infant in her arm, all a-won- 
dering at the throng; and our greeting is 
returned with a cheerful smile that bespeaks 
the good woman to be happy with her lot. 
And the opposite bank,covered with thebonnie 
broom, is sunny, and alive too, with yur-yur- 
yurlings, and chirps, and melody. And the 
river is alive with the leaping trout and the 
up-and-down flies, — and it plays in its course 
with alternate streams and stills, rapids, and 
circling deep pools, — and the sun shines on 
all things, living and dead, and we know not 
what to say but that this is beautiful and 
fine ; and we say this to one another very 
often, and never dream that we repeat a twice- 
told tale. 

Now a precipitous rock, partly quarried, 
and clothed with flowering sloes — and a 
golden whin or two, — hazel and budding 
hawthorn, — honeysuckle clambering amidst 
the shrubs, — ivy that festoons the dark rock, 
and much varied herbage, — draw us to 
remark with what successful art nature has 
grouped and mingled all this heterogeneous 
furniture, — producing a very pleasing and 
picturesque effect, with materials which, 
separately viewed, are of a mean and regard- 
less character. Turned by this rock, the 
river now runs in a rougher channel ; banked 
on one side by a green pasture slope. The 
steeper bank, along whose base we travel, 
is wooded with almost impenetrable 
shrubbery and trees of minor rank, where 
the varied botany that luxuriates in their 
shelter calls us to frequent admiration. The 
primrose and violet banks ; the trailing 
ground-ivy with its modest flowers ; the tall 
and graceful rush ; the star-wort with its 
blossoms of vestal purity, — are all beautiful ; 
and although often seen before, their beauty 
comes fresh and new upon us. I do love 
these wild flowers of the year's spring ! 

And on we stroll — almost palled with 
sweets, and almost weary with loitering. It 
is felt to be a relief, when a sylvan dean, 
that opens aside on our path, tempts us to 
trace its unknown intricacies and retreats. It 
is a dean without a name ; but sunny and 
odorous, and silent. Here the brae glows 

with whin and budding bloom, — there it is 
copsed with grey willows and alders, and 
every wild shrub and trailer. Here is a 
gentle bank, with its sward pastured by a 
lamb or two and their dams that have strayed 
from trie field above, — while opposite, a rough 
quarry contrasts, yet not disturbs the 
solitude ; for the prickly briars and weeds, 
that partially conceal the defect, tell us that 
it has been some time unworked. 

Now a sloe-brake gives shelter to every 
little bird which is seen flitting out from its 
shelter stealthily, and stealthily returning ; 
and the lark sings and soars above ; and 
the blackbird alarms the dean with its 
hurried chuckle. And as we near the top, 
we find a grove of elms, and poplars, and 
willows, which hang partly over a little 
shallow linn, formed by a rill that has fallen 
in a gentle stream over a moss-grown shelf 
of rock. Then does the water steal more 
than half-hidden, down the grassy bed of the 

Edinburgh. G. Johnston, M.D. 


Tell me what thou lovest best — 

Vernal motion ? Summer rest ? 

Winter with its merry rhymes ? 

Or the grand Autumnal times ? 

Dost thou Saxon beauty prize ? 

Or, in England, love-lit eyes ? 

Or the brown Parisian's grace ? 

Or the warm-soul'd Bordelaise ? 

Or the forehead broad and clear 

Which the Indian Damas wear, 

Braiding round their night-black hair, 

Circe-like ? — Or the Spanish air, 

Where the Moor has mixed his blood 

With the dull Castilian flood, 

Giving life to sleepy pride ? 

Tell me, where wouldst thou abide, 

Choosing for thyself a season, 

And a mate, — for sweet Love's reason ? 

Nought for country should I care, 
So my mate were true and fair ; 
But for her — Oh ! she should be, 
(Thus far I'll confess to thee) — 
Like a bud when it is blowing ; 
Like a brook when it is flowing, 
(Marr'd by neither heat nor cold) ; 
Fashion'd in the lily's mould — 
Stately, queen-like, very fair ; 
With a motion like the air : 
Glances full of morning light, 
When the morn is not too bright ; 
With a forehead marble pale, 
When sad pity tells her tale ; 
And a soft scarce-tinted cheek. 
(Flushing but when she doth speak) ; 
For her voice, 't should have a tone 
Sweetest when with me alone ; 
And Love himself should seek his nest 
Within the fragrance of her breast ! 

Barky Cornwall. 




The sunbeam, oh, the sunbeam 

It is beautiful to see, 
As it danceth in the ocean's breast, 

Or sleepeth on the lea; ' 

As it crowns with gold the forest trees, 
. And tills the vale with light, 
And maketh glorious appear 

Rude crag and rocky height. 

'Tis beautiful at early morn, 

When pearly drops of dew 
Emit, like sparkling gems, their rays 

Of iridescent hue; 
When froin the east it stealeth down 

Upon the fresh green earth, 
And waketh all her living things 

To melody and mirth. 

'Tis beautiful at noontide, when 

Each sound hath died away, 
And Nature slumbers, like a child 

Quite wearied out with play; 
When glanceth every stream and rill 

As it were molten glass, 
And light is in each woodland glade, 

And narrow mountain pass. 

And beautiful at eventide, 

When in the sapphire sky 
The clouds unfold their banners broad 

Of gold and crimson dye ; 
When every vapory wreath that floats 

Amid the gorgeous west, 
Is like a proud pavilion where 

A monarch takes his rest. 

'Tis beautiful at spring-time, 

When flowers begin to peep, 
The birds to chant their madrigals, 

The lambs to skip and leap ; 
When thawing winter's icy chains 

It sets the waters free, 
And calleth herbage from the ground. 

And blossoms from the tree. 

'Tis beautiful in summer-time, 

When in the meadows green 
The daisy and the buttercup, 

And the daffodil are seen ; 
When swallows skim the glassy pool, 

And trout rise in the stream, 
And dragon-flies, like winged gems, 

Amid the rushes gleam. 

'Tis beautiful in autumn, too, 

When all the fertile plain 
Is covered o'er with blushing fruits 

And yellow waving grain ; 
When withered leaves and thistle-seed 

Come floating down the rills, 
And gossamers their shining webs 

Weave o'er the vales and hills. 

And beautiful in winter, 'tis, 

When earth is all bedight, 
E'en like a lovely virgin bride 

In pure and spotless white ; 
When glittering icicles hang down 

Like jewel-pendants rare ; 
And feathery frost work silvers o'er 

The boughs, of foliage bare. 

The sunbeam, oh, the sunbeam ! 

How it glads the heart of man, 
How bright it makes this world appear 

To those who share it can. 
The infant in the nurse's arms, 

The weak and tottering sire, 
The eager youth — all, all alike 

To bask therein desire. 

And, oh. the beauteous sunbeam ! 

It shineth upon all, 
The dwellers in the humble cot 

And in the stately hall ; 
No difference the sunbeam makes 

Between the rich and poor, 
But streams through lofty portico 

And lowly cabin door. 

The brown bee and the butterfly, 

And all the insect race 
That spread abroad their gauzy wings, 

And flit from place to place — 
Oh, in the genial sunbeam, 

How these delight to piay, 
And in a round of merriment 

To pass their lives away ! 

The linnet, blackbird, and the thrush, 

And every bird of song, 
With gladness hail the sunbeam 

When summer days are long ; 
But most of all the singing lark, 

Who spreads his speckled wings, 
And mounts, and mounts, as he would reach 

The point from whence it springs. 

And those rejoicing creatures 

That neither toil nor spin, 
That nothing know of pain or care, 

Of sorrow nor of sin ; 
The many-hued and scented flowers, 

To them the sunbeam is 
A source of life and loveliness, 

And never-cloying bliss. 

The cowslip and the violet, 

The rose, the lily green, 
Alike their perfume leaves unfurl 

That it may steal between. 
They love to feel the genial warmth, 

And tremble with delight, 
As round about you quivering floats 

The radiance, golden bright. 

Then give unto the sunbeam praise, 

That source of light and mirth ; 
But more unto the gracious Lord 

Who sendeth it on earth, — 
To comfort us, to gladden us, 

And cause sweet herbs to spring, 
With fruits and life-sustaining grain — 

For ever praises sing. 

And let it ne'er forgotten be, 

That unto Him above 
Our thanks and gratitude are due 

For His paternal love, — 
Which sheddeth on us balmy showers 

And sunbeams bright and waim, 
And breezes to invigorate 

Each weak and fragile form. 

H. G. Adams. 




When the effects entirely are the same, 
Instinct and Reason differ but in name. 

Raise Reason over Instinct as you can, — 
The latter, God directs ; the former, Man. 


it does seem an age since I 
appeared there ! — has not, I 
hope, banished me, my dear 
Sir, altogether from your re- 
membrance. That will never 
do. You must not either, for 
one single instant, imagine that I have be- 
come indifferent to your success ; or that I 
have failed to be pleased with the monthly 
record of the many pleasing novelties which 
grace the columns of Our Own. Far, — 
very far from it ; and as one of the " Happy 
Family" to whom you make such frequent, — 
such affectionate reference, let me once more 
resume my proper place in the family circle. 
I send you to-day some very interesting 
extracts, which I have selected from the 
" Memoirs of the Baronne d'Oberkisch." 
They have reference to the instinctive saga- 
city of the Dog, and the remarkable affection 
of the Stork. Of the Dog, — my favorite, I 
have already been eloquent in your columns ; 
and the present trait will be another addition 
to his already countless good qualities. I 
feel sure you will readily give it a place. 

The second extract is a touching incident 
in the family history of a Stork, — the record 
of whose devotion and affection cannot fail 
to please the readers of Our Own. 

The Baillie de Suffren, says the Baronne, 
gave us some very interesting details con- 
nected with his services in India. I made 
notes of several of them in my journal. On 
one occasion, he was very anxious to learn 
how the troops of the enemy were disposed 
about the country, as he had reason to sus- 
pect that some were lying in ambush, — pre- 
paring to make an unexpected attack ; and 
although it was by no means the duty of a 
commander to risk his life by penetrating 
almost alone into an enemy's camp, yet, re- 
gardless of danger, he disguised himself and 
went to reconnoitre. His companions were 
only an officer, in whom he could confide, — 
and a faithful dog 

This dog was of a peculiar species, — a 
breed carefully preserved in the palace of 
the grand masters at Malta. Tradition says, 
they are descended from the two dogs with 
which Diendrune de Gizon killed the cele- 
brated serpent. However that may be, it 
is certain that these dogs possess more 
than ordinary intelligence,— and the one here 
spoken of (belonging to Madame de Suffren, 
and to whom his master was very much at- 

tached) was by no means unworthy of his 
race. On the present occasion, he went on 
before his master : exploring their route, 
smelling all round, and by his mute signals 
deciding his owner's path. These Indians 
are the most wily and watchful people im- 
aginable. They are ever on the alert, and 
very seldom taken by surprise. But now 
their vigilance seemed to sleep ; for the 
General went all round their camp without 
meeting any adventure, or making the slight- 
est discovery. 

It was nearly day as he retraced his steps ; 
almost disappointed at having escaped so 
well ; when, at last, the prospect looked more 
promising. Suddenly, the dog turned back 
as if afraid, or stunned ; and seemed to wish 
to lead his master towards a rock at a little 
distance. The General followed the indica- 
tions of the animal ; and to his no small sur- 
prise and horror, saw, standing at the en- 
trance of a kind of grotto, an immense 
tiger, whose eyes flamed with rage. His 
first impulse was to draw back, and prepare 
to defend himself; but the strange proceed- 
ings of the dog arrested his attention, and he 
involuntarily waited to see what the animal 
was about to do. 

For a few moments, the dog stood still, as 
if collecting his strength ; and then darting 
towards the savage beast, a mortal combat 
ensued. M. de Suffren was surprised at 
this ; for it was by no means common with 
dogs of this species. So he determined to 
wait the issue of the fight. 

The movements or the tiger were no less 
extraordinary ; for he defended himself 
against his enemy without using his claws, 
or mouth. A moment sufficed to reveal the 
mystery. The dog, seizing the tiger by the 
throat, the skin came away ; and disclosed 
(inside) an Indian ! The savage had as- 
sumed this disguise in order that he might 
watch with the greater security. Now that 
he was discovered, he flung away the tiger's 
hide ; and drawing a poignard, attacked the 
dog with great fury. Oh, how the General 
trembled for his faithful friend ! But though 
he had his firelock cocked, yet could he not 
take aim at the Indian ; so firmly bound to- 
gether were the savage and the dog ! At 
last, the poor animal was overpowered, and 
fell upon the ground ; but just as the Indian 
was preparing to transfix him with his poig- 
nard, a ball from the General's rifle stretched 
the conqueror lifeless on the earth. 

M. de Suffren raised his dog, bleeding, — 
almost lifeless as he was ; and bore him in 
his arms safely to the boat. He was nur- 
tured with the greatest care, and soon reco- 
vered all his strength. For many years after, 
he was the faithful companion of his master ; 
and bore upon his shoulder the marks of 
the wounds received in his defence," 

Vol. V.— 6. 



Oh, how I should have loved that dog, my 
dear Sir ! What man would have done as 
he did ? 

But now for the particulars of the stork : — 

On the roof of the cathedral at Stras- 
bourg, there had been placed a wheel, laid 
crosswise as an inducement to storks to 
build their nests there. This is a custom 
throughout Alsace ; it being a popular opinion 
in that part of the country that these birds 
are harbingers of good-luck. 

The storks had not failed to come ; and, 
from the windows of our inn, we saw the 
sombre profile of a parent bird standing out 
in strong relief against the evening sky, then 
reddened by the setting sun. A brood of 
young storks was grouped around the parent, 
which stood upright upon its great claws. 
Not one in the nest slept. It was evident that 
they awaited an absent one — some straggler 
perhaps ; and, from time to time, we heard 
their wild and disagreeable cry. 

At length we perceived, on the verge of 
the horizon, a stork with outspread wings. 
He was cleaving the air with arrowy swift- 
ness, and closely pursued by a bird of prey, 
of prodigious size, — probably a vulture from 
the neighboring mountains. The stork was 
frightened —wounded, perhaps — and the cries 
of those in the nest responded to the 
parent's wail. We saw the poor, frightened 
bird arrive straight over its nest, and fall 
there ; exhausted either by fatigue or pain. 
The other stork then took her companion's 
place, and sprang towards the enemy. A 
fierce combat ensued. The two champions 
rushed upon one another, uttering terrific 

But the glorious instinct of paternity dis- 
played itself with* incredible strength and 
energy in the stork. Whilst defending her- 
self or attacking her gigantic adversary, she 
never, for an instant, lost sight of her little 
ones that lay trembling and terrified in the 
nest beneath ; but tried continually to cover 
them with her wings. At length, too weak 
to sustain the unequal combat, by a desperate 
effort she approached her branch-formed 
nest, where lay her expiring mate and the 
young ones, — yet unable to take wing. She 
caught the nest in her bill, shook it forcibly ; 
and, turning it over, dashed from the top of 
the tower the objects of her affection, rather 
than see them fall a prey to their enemy. 
Then, devoting herself singly, — a resigned 
victim, she fell upon the wheel ; where, with 
a blow of his beak, the vulture terminated 
her existence." 

What now shall we say about instinct and 
reason ? How shall we define, — how divide 

I agree with you, my dear sir, that Nature 
is a wonderful mother, — ever watchful, ever 

kind ; and at all times ready to lend her 
aid according to the greatness of the 



[We are indeed rejoiced once again to 
behold the handwriting of our much-esteemed 
correspondent, FoRESTiERA. That a star had 
gone from the circle, was undeniably felt by 
us and by our readers. Its return will be 
joyfully heralded. May it never " wander " 
again ! We cannot afford to lose even the 
shadow of one of our precious jewels.] 



Lovely Spring, — charming Spring ! — we are 

waiting for thee, 
The leaves are all gone from the bright holly -tree ; 
And a sigh has escaped from our hearts even now, 
As we whisper'd farewell to the misseltoe bough. 
But away with all sorrow; from care we'll be free, 
And realise pleasure whilst waiting for thee ! 

Old Winter, we learn, is preparing to go, — 
To lay by his frost-robe and mantle of snow; 
And the birds, — oh, how sweetly they sung with 

As they saw the gay heralds approaching in sight ! 
They kiss'd the bright buds, whilst they hopp'd 

on each tree, 
And breathed vows of love. — They are waiting for 


The daisy has open'd its pretty bright eye, 
And gracefully bends as the breeze passes by ; 
And the dormouse creeps forth from its snug little 

For the pale sun is peeping out over its head ; 
But it looks all around, as if wishing to see 
Some kind smiling face. — It is waiting for thee ! 

How we long for a walk through the fields to the 

Or to Old Martha's cot at the foot of the hill ! 
But a cold wind is whistling over the plain, 
And the ducks with much pleasure anticipate 

There are brighter days coming, with flower and 

bee ; 
Oh, haste, lovely Spring, — they are waiting for 


We wait for thy voice to resound through the 

vale, — 
Thy light step to lead us through forest and dale ; 
Thy smile to enliven the bower and brake, 
Or to join the gay breezes that dance on the lake ; 
The light bark is moor'd, but she longs to be free, 



The man, woman, or child, who can wander 
abroad at this season and not feel impressed with 
a love for God, and the work of His hands, — is an 
object for pity. Let them *' go to Ant." 




The Naturalist. No. 36. Groombridge 
and Sons. 

Among the varied articles in this number 
of our elder brother, is one from which we 
propose to make a few extracts. We allude 
to the " Visit to the Grounds of Terrick 
House ; " which details what the writer, Mr. 
S. Stone (of Brighthampton) saw there in 
the way of feathered residents, or visitants. 
We are not going to pilfer from these inte- 
resting observations ; but we feel pleasure in 
giving Mr. Stone's preliminary observations. 
They are quite in accordance with the tone 
of Our Journal, and will be perused with 
delight by all who really love to see birds 
" happy." 

Our recent observations on the cruelty of 
"Naturalists" who so remorselessly slay 
every living thing that is " curious," have 
excited more than common attention. Our 
contemporary, the " Times," — and indeed 
nearly all the public journals, have given 
extensive currency to what fell from our pen. 
We sincerely hope it may produce some good 
result ; for it is lamentable to hear (so-called) 
" lovers of nature " boasting of their deeds 
of blood, and triumphing in their acts of in- 
defensible cruelty. 

But now let us hear what Mr. Stone has 
to say. He prefaces his visit thus : — 

Birds and other animals are found to vary 
somewhat in their habits, at different times in 
different localities, and also in different indivi- 
duals. We cannot, therefore, hope to meet with 
a history of birds, quadrupeds, &c, approaching 
completeness, until a perfect knowledge of these 
various habits and peculiarities is gained ; and 
the only way to obtain this knowledge is for 
each district to be provided with its " constant 
observer," and for each observer to publish the 
result of his observations. 

To recline upon a well-cushioned sofa in a 
well-appointed drawing-room, gazing upon the 
beaming countenance of some " fair denizen of 
earth ;" or listening to the music of " the last 
new opera " her fair fingers cause to proceed 
from the instrument at which she is seated; or 
to the words of a favorite air that opera con- 
tains, warbled from the sweet throat — may be a 
situation enjoyable enough, especially in winter; 
but give me, in summer, a seat on or near the 
top of some " greenwood tree." Let me listen to 
the music of "the minstrels of the grove," as 
they sit warbling their '* native wood notes wild," 
and pouring forth hymns of praise to their Great 
Creator; let me gaze on the fair forms of these 
"free denizens of the air," as, according to their 
several habits, they may be seen, — now flitting 
from spray to spray, now mounting on soaring 
wing, now dropping from a neighboring tree-top 
to the shelter of the underwood, now sailing 
about in the upper regions of the air " with 
wings expanded and motionless." Now dashing 
with impetuous velocity round the tower of the 

distant church, now skimming the surface of 
pond or lake, now rowing placidly and noiselessly 
upon — now splashing, flapping, and diving noisily 
and impetuously through and under its waters. 
Now cleaving the liquid air in straight, rapid, 
arrow-like, and onward flight, now describing a 
series of semicircles, or dancing about on the 
wing, " with odd jerks and gesticulations ; " 
now darting from a neighboring thicket to pick 
up, at the distance of several paces, some small 
insect. You deem it next to impossible that 
it could have discerned so small an object at 
so great a distance; and apparently concealed, 
too, amongst the herbage. The fact, however, 
of its darting directly to the spot, and then and 
there seizing upon the said insect, convinces 
you that it must have done so ; and you infer 
from the circumstance that its organs of vision 
must have telescopic, microscopic, or other powers 
which your own have not. 

Birds were considered by the Eev. Gilbert 
White " to be somewhat wild and shy in propor- 
tion to their size ;" to this may be added they are 
also wild and shy in proportion to the degree of 
persecution they meet with. It is astonishing 
the confidence most species will exhibit, when 
for any length of time they have met an asylum, 
and a consequent immunity from persecution and 
annoyance. And here I cannot refrain from ex- 
pressing my entire concurrence in, and warmly 
pressing upon the attention of others, the humane 
and most excellent suggestion of Mr. Kobt. Gray, 
that the use of the telescope might supersede that 
of the deadly fowling-piece. A circumstance 
which occurred to myself some time since, serves 
to place the advantages that might accrue from 
the use of the former instrument over the latter, 
in a strong light. I was walking in the neighbor- 
hood of Cokethorpe Park, when a bird flew past ; 
and at the distance of about a hundred yards 
beyond me, alighted on a spray in the hedge, 
where it remained for several minutes ; the bird 
had so much the appearance of a Cuckoo (Cuculus 
canorus), that I felt more than half inclined to set 
it down as one ; still it is possible that it might 
have been the Merlin (Falco cesalon). I was 
prevented from approaching nearer, even had the 
bird been disposed to have permitted it, by an in- 
surmountable fence which intervened, and along- 
side which I was walking. Now a gun would 
have been of no manner of service in this instance, 
while a telescope would have been of the greatest 
use, for it would have enabled me to have placed 
the identity of the bird beyond a doubt ; in this I 
should have felt much interested, never having 
personally met with an instance of the Cuckoo re- 
maining in this country so late in the season as 
October 26, by nearly two months. Ihis is one 
of the many instances in which the telescope 
might be advantageously employed instead of the 
gun. It frequently happens that we merely wish 
to ascertain to what species a bird may belong ; 
this the gun will only enable us to do by pos- 
sessing ourselves of the dead or mutilated body, 
which may be of no use to us whatever ; while the 
telescope would enable us as effectually to satisfy 
ourselves upon the point, without the sacrifice of 
the life of the bird, which cannot fail grievously 
to mar the pleasures of the humane ornithologist's 
studies, besides tending seriously to lessen his op- 

portunities of study. We can generally, too, ap- 
proach birds sufficiently near to identify them with 
a good telescope ; while to approach them within 
gunshot is often, from their wildness, shyness, and 
wariness, extremely difficult. Could the use of 
the gun be entirely dispensed with, 

" A consummation 
Devoutly to be wished," 

this shyness and wariness in birds would soon wear 
off; we should then experience comparatively 
little difficulty in approaching them, for the pur- 
pose of observing their habits, and that in a far 
more satisfactory manner than we are now enabled 
to do. 

The grounds of Terrick House, the residence of 
one of my three brothers, J. S. Stone, Esq., have 
afforded the feathered tribes an asylum for several 
years past. Within the limits of these grounds 
no gun is ever discharged ; nor are nets, nor traps, 
nor other instruments of destruction allowed to be 
used. Here the birds are at full liberty to enjoy 
themselves as best they may ; all are free to come 
and free to go. Free to pursue the round of court- 
ship, marriage, nest-building, laying, incubating 
their eggs, and rearing their young. Welcome to 
the shelter its evergreens afford from the blasts 
and storms,and snows and cold of winter. Welcome 
to the protection those evergreens, as well as deci- 
duous trees and shrubs, afford from the powerful 
rays of a noontide summer's sun, and its conse- 
quent parching heat ; tempering that heat, and 
diffusing a delightful and refreshing coolness 
around. Welcome to partake of the fruit of vege- 
tables, or any other fare the place affords. 
Welcome to disport themselves, if they be of 
aquatic habits, upon its waters. Welcome, and 
more than welcome, to solace themselves, their 
partners, and the inmates of the house with their 

Then follows Mr. Stone's comment upon 
the Barn Owl, Rook, and other visitors to 
this sacred spot. There is, beside, a vast 
amount of pleasant reading scattered over 
these pages, to which we refer the curious 

We may here acknowledge the safe receipt 
of Part 45 of " A History of British Birds," 
by the Rev. F. 0. Morris ; and Part 26 of 
" The Nests and Eggs of British Birds," by 
the same author. These both maintain the 
reputation they have so long enjoyed. 

A book on " British Game Birds and Wild 
Fowl," by Dr. Morris (to be published in 
Monthly Parts), is announced. When it 
reaches us, we shall be happy to give our 
report of it. 

The Illustrated London Magazine. 
February. Piper and Co. 

There is no falling off in the conduct and 
interest of this marvellously cheap periodical. 
Its matter is excellent, and its illustrations 
are sweetly picturesque. 

Among the varied contributions, is one on 
" Taming the Horse." It will be here seen 
how largely " kindness " enters into the 

secret. Kindness is, no doubt, the grand talis- 
man for taming everything and everybody. 
We propose to offer a few extracts confir- 
matory of this, and at the same time we shall 
be able to gratify some of our readers by a 
direct allusion to the " horse whisperers," so 
anxiously inquired about in our last number. 

The Tartars begin to exert their influence over 
their horses when they are but eight months old ; 
they make them carry their children on their backs, 
and thus they are trained by degrees, till about 
six years old, when they become perfectly amenable, 
and equal to the greatest hardships. Niebuhr 
and other travellers tell us, that the Arabian 
horses are divided into two great branches, the 
Kadtsche and Kochlani; the descent of the former 
is not known, but there has been a written genea- 
logy kept of the latter for upwards of two thou- 
sand years. They are kept solely for riding ; and 
are in such high estimation, that they can only be 
obtained at enormous cost, — their origin is said to 
be derived from King Solomon's stud. They are 
capable of sustaining the greatest fatigue, and can 
even pass whole days without food. They are said 
to be undaunted in courage against an enemy ; 
and it is told of the noble and faithful creature, that 
when wounded and unable to bear his rider any 
longer, he retires from the fight and takes him to 
a place of safety — and should his master fall to 
the ground, he never quits his side till he has at- 
tracted some one by his neighing to come to his 
assistance. Indeed, there is an influence more 
potent than bit or bridle or harshness — the influ- 
ence of kindness. 

The Arabs treat their horses with the utmost 
tenderness ; they never make use of the whip 
or spur but in cases of the greatest emer- 
gency — they treat them, in fact, as companions, 
and talk to them and caress them — allow them to 
share their tents, and carefully attend to their 
wants. The mane and tail, which are never cut, 
are washed every morning as well as the legs ; 
and every little roughness on the skin is smoothed. 
The family who thus associate with the horse, 
consider him in the light of a friend; aud when 
he lies down, the little children may be seen 
fondling about his neck and body — nothing, 
indeed, can exceed the affection of an Arab for his 
horse : it is impossible to reckon on the fulfilment 
of a bargain for his sale. It often happens that a 
rich European, attracted by the beauty of an 
Arabian horse, offers such an exorbitant price for 
his purchase, as might be supposed to be an irre- 
sistible temptation to one in poverty; but it rarely 
happens that the bargain is completed — one look 
at his horse is enough to make the Arab declare 
off, he protests that his horse is dearer to him 
than his life — that money is useless to him, but 
that when mounted on his favorite, he feels as rich 
as a Pacha. 

There are hundreds of affecting anecdotes of the 
strength of this affection. D'Arvieux mentions 
one of a poor Arab, who made journeys to Rome 
to inquire after a mare whom he had been 
induced to sell. While kissing and caressing her, 
he would cry like a child — he would embrace her 
and wipe her eyes with his handkerchief, and rub 
her with his shirt sleeves ; and he would give her 
a thousand blessings during whole hours that he 



would stand talking to her. He would address 
her in the tenderest tones, reminding her how he 
had brought her up as his child and indulged her, 
and assuring her that it was his poverty which 
had obliged him to part with her ; he would then 
wipe his eyes, embrace her, and take the most af- 
fectionate leave. D'Arvieux mentions the case of 
another Arab, who would not part with a mare 
which had been bought for the King of France : 
— " When he put the money in his bag," D'Ar- 
vieux tells, " he looked wistfully upon his mare 
and began to weep; ' shall it be possible,' said he, 
' that after having bred thee up in my house 
with so much care, and after having had so much 
service from thee, I should be delivering thee up 
to slavery to the Franks for thy reward ? No, I 
never will do it, my darling ! ' and with that he 
threw down the money on the table, embraced 
and kissed his mare, and took her home with him 
again." This incident has been made the subject 
of a touching and spirited poem by the Honor- 
able Mrs. Norton. Nor is kindness thrown away 
on the generous animal. The Syrian horse, we 
are told, is so peculiarly under the influence of at- 
tachment—so fond does he become of his groom, 
that he will follow him about like a dog. After 
having been brought in from the wild state and 
tamed, if they become by any accident free they 
never again become wild, but come at the call of 
their masters. The Buccaneers, who have re- 
turned after a long absence, have been gratified 
by finding themselves remembered, when they 
have been met by a welcome, which shows how 
capable the lower creatures are of loving those who 
treat them kindly. 

The swiftness of the Arabian horse is astonish- 
ing ; no obstacle can impede his speed — he clears 
at a bound such as he meets ; yet in the midst of 
this rapid course, if Jiis rider happens to fall, he 
instantly stays his speed and stands perfectly still. 
From his attachment to his master, and from his 
remarkable docility and agility, the Arabian 
horse is highly prized, and is often sold for one or 
two thousand pounds, and has been known to 
bring three thousand. When we reflect on the 
native wild state of the horse, and all that can be 
gradually accomplished in his training, and on the 
hold which affection for his master takes of his 
nature, it may well excite our admiration. He 
soon learns to obey the human voice, and to be as 
subservient to the word of command as a well- 
disciplined soldier. The words "go on " and 
" stop " are instantly obeyed, and even the chucks 
and chirrups of the driver, so incomprehensible to 
us, convey a precise meaning to the obedient 
horse. A slight check of the bridle directs him 
what course to take and when to stand still — so 
wonderfully teachable is this creature ! 

But there are mysterious influences by which 
an immediate ascendancy is gained over him, 
independent of the process of teaching on the 
promptings of affection. There is a family living 
in the county of Cork, who lay claim to a secret 
by which the wildest or most vicious horse can be 
tamed — this secret is said to have been originally 
imparted by a Bohemian, to be regularly trans- 
mitted as a parting legacy at the time of death 
from the father to the eldest son. The grandson 
of Con Sullivan, who is now the possessor of the 
secret, though to a certain degree successful in its 

application, falls far short of the miraculous prac- 
tice of his grandfather. 

Among the many well-attested accounts of the 
wonderful achievements of Con Sullivan, the 
Wldsperer, the first of the family in possession of 
the secret, the services which he rendered Colonel 
Westenra, who afterwards succeeded to the title 
of Rossmore, was the talk of the whole country. 
The Colonel had a splendid race- horse, called 
Rainbow, and he was anxious to run him at the 
races on the Curragh of Kildare ; but he was so 
wild and vicious, that he found he must give up 
all thoughts of bringing him out — he would bite 
every one who went near him, and it was neces- 
sary to tie up his head when the groom who at- 
tended him was with him — if a horse chanced to 
be near him, he was sure to bite him, and the legs 
of the jockey who attempted to mount him did not 
escape his fangs. Lord Doneraile said, he knew 
a person who could cure him — the Colonel would 
not believe him, and a wager of a thousand pounds 
was laid on the matter. 

A messenger was despatched for Con Sullivan 
— known throughout the country as "the Whis- 
perer," from the supposition that he whispered into 
the horse's ear, by which means he quieted such 
as were unruly. When he was told the state of 
Colonel Westenra's horse, he desired to go into 
the stable to see him. " You must w 7 ait till his 
head is tied up," was repeated by those who were 
present — " No occasion," said Con, " he won't 
bite me ; " so in he went, after peremptorily 
ordering no one to follow him, till a given signal 
should signify that they had his permission. He 
then shut the door for the unenviable tete-a-tete. 
In a little more than a quarter of an hour the 
signal was heard — those who had been waiting . 
in alarm for the result, rushed in — they found the 
horse extended on his back, playing like a little 
kitten with the Whisperer, who was quietly sitting 
by him. Both horse and operator appeared ex- 
hausted, particularly the latter, to whom it was 
necessary to administer brandy and other stimu- 
lants before he could be revived : the horse was 
perfectly tame and gentle from that day. In the 
spring of 1803, Mr. Whaley's King Pippin was 
brought out to run at the Curragh of Kildare. 
He has been described as a horse of the most 
savage and vicious disposition ; he had a habit of 
flying at and worrying any person who came near 
him. When he could turn his head round, he 
would seize his rider's leg with his teeth, and drag 
him from his back. The difficulty of managing 
such a horse may be conceived, and on this occa- 
sion it was impossible to put a bridle on him. 
The Whisperer was now sent for. He remained 
shut up in the stable all night — in the morning 
King Pippin was seen following him like a dog — 
lying down at the word of command, and per- 
mitting any person, without resistance, to put his 
hand into his mouth, while he stood " gentle as a 
lamb." He was brought out in the course of the 
meeting, and won the race. 

The fame of the Whisperer had now spread 
through the country, and his services were exten- 
sively demanded. This extraordinary person has 
been noticed in various publications — Crofton 
Croker speaks of him in his " Fairy Legends " 
" as an ignorant rustic of the lowest class," while 
he bears ample testimony to his magical powers. 



" I once saw his skill," he says, " tried on a horse 
which could never before be brought to a stand 
for a smith to shoe him. The day after Sullivan's 
lecture, I went, not without some incredulity, to 
the smith's shop, with many other curious spec- 
tators, who were eye-witnesses of the complete 
success of his art. This had been a troop-horse ; 
it was supposed that after regimental discipline 
had failed, no other could be found availing. I 
observed that the animal seemed terrified when 
Sullivan either spoke to or looked at him." 

Were we to recount all the well-authenticated 
details of the marvellous power of "the Whis- 
perer," we should far exceed our limits : there are 
persons in the South of Ireland still living who 
were witnesses of this power, or who have bene- 
fited by it. How he obtained this wonderful com- 
mand over the horse has never yet been ascer- 
tained. Some fancied that he poured some opiate 
into the ear of the animal, while others ascribed 
his success to magic. Crofton Groker observes, 
that " he seemed to possess an intuitive power of 
inspiring awe ; the result, perhaps, of natural in- 
trepidity, in which, I believe, great part of his art 
consisted, though the circumstance of the tete-a- 
tete shows that on particular occasions something 
more must have been added to it. The power of 
" the Whisperer " is glanced at in " Borrow's Bible 
in Spain," from which, too, it would appear that 
he had taken some lessons in his art. In " La- 
vengro, the Scholar," he enlarges on the subject ; 
and from what he says, it would appear that the 
cure of the animal is effected by a word. The 
smith of whom he speaks, he tells us, " uttered a 
word which I had never heard before, in a sharp 
pungent tone ; the effect upon myself was some- 
what extraordinary, a strange thrill ran through 
me, but with regard to the cob it was terrible. 
The animal forthwith became like one mad, and 
roared and kicked with the utmost desperation. 
He afterwards uttered another word, in a voice 
singularly modified, but sweet and almost plain- 
tive. The effect of it was instantaneous as that of 
the other, but was different ; the animal lost all 
its fury, and became at once calm and gentle." 

This extraordinary power, hitherto so inexpli- 
cable, may now perhaps be traced to mesmerism. 
Dr. Esdaile, in his " Natural and Mesmeric Clair- 
voyance," quotes a remarkable passage from 
Catlin's account of the North Americans, observ- 
ing, that "it appears that they know the soothing 
effects of mesmerism upon brutes, and turn it to 
practical purposes." In describing the capture 
of buffalo calves after the death of their mothers, 
he says, "I have often, in concurrence with a 
known custom of the country, held my hands over 
the eyes of a calf, and breathed a few strong 
breaths into his nostrils, after which I have, 
with my hunting companions, rode several miles 
into our encampment, with the little prisoner 
busily following the heels of my horse, the whole 
way, as closely and as affectionately as its instinct 
would attach it to the company of its dam. In 
describing the capture of wild horses by the lasso, 
he also says, " The hunter gradually advances, 
until he is able to place his hand on the animal's 
nose and over its eyes, and at length to breathe 
into his nostrils, when it becomes docile and 
conquered, so that he has little else to do than 
to remove the hobbles from his feet, and lead 

or ride it into camp." No doubt this impulsive 
power has often been employed by those who 
have stolen cattle. It is practised in India in 
luring away children. There are rumors all 
over that country of persons compelled by charms 
to follow others. " It has been discovered," 
says a Malacca Journal, " that there exists a 
gang of child -stealers. A person when walking 
in the suburbs of Canton, recognised a child of 
his employer, who had lately suddenly disap- 
peared. The child did not know him, but ap- 
peared stupid. When brought home, the stupi- 
fying charms could only be dissipated by the 
priests of Budha (who were probably well ac- 
quainted with the mysterious practice of mes- 
merism). Search was made, and the retreat of 
six men and three women were discovered, who 
had carried on this trade for several years. Dr. 
Esdaile saw a boy in India of about ten years 
old, who had been found two miles from his home, 
following a man, and appearing in a stupified 
state. When he came to his recollection, he told 
that when in a field by his father's house, a man, 
whom he had never seen before, came up to him, 
took him by the hand, and began to mutter charms 
over him; very soon after, the man passed his 
hands across his eyes, and that thereupon he lost 
his senses, and felt compelled to follow him." 
There is nothing in man's nature more astonishing 
than this compulsory power. We know not to 
what extent it may have been used, nor can we 
calculate on the extent to which it may yet be 

"We shall frequently have to recur to this 
subject; for it involves a very curious and 
interesting inquiry. We sleep with our eyes 
open now— and we hardly care to close them. 

Hogg's Instructor. February. Groom- 
bridge and Sons. 

This popular Miscellany is as interesting 
as ever, and contains some very readable 
articles ; inter alia— Glimpses of life among 
the Spitalfields Weavers, A Month in the 
Apennines, Norway and its Glaciers, and a 
well-written paper on the late LudwigTieck, 
leader of the Romantic School in German 

Among the poetical effusions is one which 
pleases us vastly; and being in praise of 
Woman, there requires no apology for its 
being transplanted into our " pleasant pages." 
We hardly need observe, that the author, D. 
Mitchell, is not speaking of the bare-faced, 
bare-headed, "fashionable" women of the 
present day. Let not such brainless " dolls " 
as these, profane the sacred name of 
woman ! 

All earthly Powers and Principalities ! 
Human embodiments of every sense 
That animates our souls ! all living Men, 
Of varied minds the representatives ! 
Kneel down before the radiant throne, where sits 
Woman enshrined, as Mistress of the World ; 
Then own the mighty power she wields o'er 



Which know a greater power in God alone. 
Most noble Woman ! Burning hearts, all scorch'd 
With fiery thoughts from out their own wild 

Have call'd thee vile; have stamp'd thy name 

with wrong; 
Have dared to blast the garlands on thy brow 
With stormy epithets, black as the grave. 
These call thee fickle, selfish, heartless, frail ; 
And shake their sapient heads, and smile to think 
What willing dupes we are to trust in thee ! 
They hate to hear thy laugh of innocence, 
Because it 'minds them of the putrid thoughts 
That ever gnaw their own world-wither'd hearts. 
Alas ! 'tis true. Strong hearts do often weep 
O'er wrongs by thee inflicted, and have sunk 
Into the grave beneath thy frown. Cold words 
From thee have brought dead winter on the soul, 
That erewhile joy'd beneath thy summer smile. 
But thou art Woman ! 'Tis thy broadest shield — 
And yet thy highest title ! Who bends not 
Before it ? Art thou not a sun to all 
This giant-groping world ? A palm-tree well 
In this great desert ? Come not thy kind words 
Upon our throbbing hearts, as comes the oil 
Upon the chafing billows of the deep ? 
The heart of youth leaps high ; and his hot blood 
Runs in a tumult, as he thinks of thee. 
The old man utters dreamings of thy charms, 
And softly croons o'er visions, of his youth, 
When one kind face look'd up and shone on him. 
The poor man finds his noblest trust, next God, 
In his long-suffering and most loving wife. 
The slave will clank his bodily or mental chains 
Less loud when looking, 'neath the dancing curls, 
Into the bright eyes of a daughter loved. 
The rich think thee the gem most bright within 
Their coronets — a magic pow'r most sweet, 
To lure their troubled souls into the peace 
That springs from Woman's all-enduring love. 
The poet scales the heavens, and tracks the globe, 
To link thy name with deathless images. 
The painter speaks with thee on canvas. 
Philosophy makes plain her driest laws 
By illustrations of thy love and truth. 
Diplomacy is turn'd into romance 
When Woman pleads (and pleads not oft in vain) : 
While thoughts most dear to our immortal souls 
Are link'd with thee. Religion seems most fair, 
When Woman wins the heart to thoughts of peace. 
'Twas Woman shed on it its noblest light, 
When Heav'n through her stoop'd. down to kiss 
the world ! 

The Band of Hope Review, and 
Children's Friend, for 1853. Par- 
tridge and Oakey. 

This little serial is brought out under the 
patronage of the Earl of Shaftesbury, and is 
avowedly put forward for the purpose of 
alluring youth from, the many immoral prints 
which are everywhere disgracing our shop- 
windows, and demoralising the minds of the 
rising generation. 

The object of the work is good ; and 
there is much useful matter in it. We are 
not expected to be hypercritical, and there- 
fore speak generally. It is well filled with 

attractive illustrations ; and these will, no 
doubt, cause many a young person to fall in 
love with it at first sight. Thus caught, the 
moral maxims and precepts will next be 
studied, — let us hope profitably so. The 
volume costs but one shilling ! 

Ferguson's Rare and Prize Poultry. 
Part 5. Culliford, Southampton Street. 

We have already spoken highly of this 
publication, which proceeds well. The 
present number treats of the Polish varieties 
of fowl, and has two well-executed engravings, 
— one representing a pair of black-crested 
white Polands ; the other a pair of silver- 
spangled Polands. 

The information given is valuable both to 
amateurs and breeders ; and the work when 
completed will be in general demand. 

The Angler's Almanac and Pocket- 
Book for 1854. By A Practical 
Angler. G-. Cox. 

The lovers of angling are herein furnished 
with the elements of sport to their heart's 
content. The eye and the ear are both pro- 
vided for, — the former by tempting illustra- 
tions of " heavy baskets 1 ' of fish ; the latter 
by advice and instructions, which if followed, 
ought to make them first-rate adepts. The 
book is full of information, but we con- 
fine ourselves to two short articles. The 
first is 


When a very young but ardent disciple of the 
" gentle Izaak," and when, to wind my way to the 
side of one of our metropolitan canals by break of 
day, was far more congenial to the senses than 
now, — bricks and mortar and sulphurous vapor 
having usurped the place of the verdant fields, 
I was wont to traverse— it often puzzled my young 
mind to know how far fishes could hear. I had it 
frequently said at me that " pitchers had ears," 
but I could never discover that fishes had the like, 
although, young as I was, I fully appreciated the 
importance of quietness in my favorite vocation, 
and assiduously cultivated this very essential 
attribute of a successful angler, but I must confess 
that all my after experience has but confirmed my 
youthful notions, that fish are scared more by 
concussion of the earth or air acting on the water, 
than by any direct influence of sound through the 
water — probably electricity , that wonderful but lit- 
tle-understood agent of the Great Author of all 
constructions, may exert a power over the finny 
tribe, which is denied to animals of a higher 
grade. Certain it is there is no outward sign of 
the organ of hearing; and as the density of the 
element in which they live admits of, or conducts, 
vibration or motion more readily than sound, it 
appears to me that the popular notion of fishes 
hearing, in the common acceptation of the term, is 
but another " popular error." In " The Handbook 
of Angling," by " Ephemera," there is a chapter 
by Professor Wilson, devoted to the physiology of 
fish, in which the learned writer seeks to establish 



the current opinion of the hearing of fishes, by 
giving a compensating size and consequent power 
to an internal organ. He says, " In the higher 
animals the mechanical apparatus of hearing con- 
sists of an external and an internal portion; in 
fishes the internal portion alone exists, and is 
hardly in perfection of form and structure to that 
of creatures placed higher in the animal scale." — 
Again, " There exists, however, this important 
difference between the organ of hearing of terres- 
trial animals and fishes, namely, that the ear in 
the former is organised for the reception of the 
more delicate vibration of the atmosphere, while 
in the latter it is adapted to the rude oscillations 
of a denser element." And after giving an illus- 
tration of the effect of sound by the ticking of a 
watch in different positions, he proceeds to sum 
up by saying, " Fishes must, therefore, hear with 
tolerable acuteness, particularly such sounds as 
occasion a vibration of the element in which they 
reside, for example, an approaching footstep ; 
while the sounds which proceed from musical in- 
struments, being less easily conveyed, are probably 
unknown to them] certainly this is the case with 
regard to tone.'' 1 Now this brings me back to my 
first boyish conceptions, for I used to remark that 
however much I whistled to " keep my courage 
up," or the warmth from oozing out at my fingers' 
ends, so long as I refrained from kicking my heels, 
shaking myself, or indulging in any other boyish 
noise, it did not interfere with my sport, which, by 
the way, was of no mediocre description, of its 
kind, seeing that I had imbibed no inconsider- 
able share of paternal education in the gentle art, 
paternal love of it, paternal tackle, &c, &c. In 
Professor Wilson's ably written chapter, as quoted, 
I do not think there is anything to refute the 
opinion I have ventured, but rather to confirm it — 
that concussion, received indirectly instead of 
directly, is the cause of the sudden impulses fish 
so obviously exhibit. 

Our closing extract refers to the angler's 
favorite place of resort, — 


This river has its rise in Bedfordshire, falls into 
the Thames near Blackwall, and is held in the 
opinion of London anglers, as second only to 
that noble river. It is navigable from Hertford 
to Limehouse, aud flows through a beautiful 
pastoral country, adorned with villages and 
noble mansions, through parks and meadows, con- 
taining countless herds of cattle and flocks of 
sheep, which are bordered by the sloping hills 
and woods of Epping Forest for some miles. In 
spring, the angler may try his art in the Lea, 
when he is forbidden, by the fence-months of 
March, April, and May, to wet a line in the 
Thames, except he is fishing for trout. 

The shortness of the distance from London 
is another inducement for brothers of the angle 
to congregate on the Lea; the first subscription 
water, the White House, Homerton, being little 
more than three miles from London. 

This water is rented and preserved by Mr. 
Beresford, and the subscription for a year's 
angling is half-a-guinea, or a ticket for the day 
may be had for a shilling. White House water 
lies between Stratford and Lea Bridge, and is 
near Homerton. It abounds with jack and pike, 

carp, barbel, chub, perch, roach, dace, eels, 
gudgeon, and bleak. The Horse and Groom, Lea 
Bridge:— this favorite resort of London fishermen 
is about a mile above White House, and is most 
delightfully situated, the gardens belonging to it 
being almost surrounded by water. The sub- 
scribers to this water are very numerous, they pay 
half-a-guinea annually, and casual visitors a 
shilling for a day ticket ; the house is kept by 
Messrs. Beresford and Son, and on most days, 
during the season, the angler will find an ordinary 
at two o'clock. 

The fish to be met with in this water are the 
same as those already mentioned in the White 
House water. It is said the Lea is an excellent 
school for anglers, and with great justice, as the 
fish are so well fed naturally, and the water is so 
clear and often low, that nothing but fine fishing 
can succeed. Above Lea Bridge a considerable 
space of the river is free to anglers, but at Totten- 
ham mills, five miles from London, you come to 
Tyler's subscription water, and six miles thence 
is Ford's water; the house is called the Blue 
House. The annual subscr'rtion is half-a-guinea 
for bottom-fishing only, or one guinea including 
trolling. The next subscription water is Bleak 
Hall. This house belongs to Mr. Wicks, and is 
near to Edmonton ; it is pleasantly situated close 
to the water, which is well stored with fish. 
Upwards of two miles of water are here preserved, 
by uniting the water of Bleak Hall and that 
of Chingford, formerly Shurey's water; and 
this part of the Lea is well stored with jack and 
pike. The subscription for both waters is two 
guineas. Waltham Abbey : — this place is twelve 
miles from London. The water here, for the 
space of at least two miles, belongs to the Govern- 
ment, and is well preserved. 

There are several wiers or tumbling bays here, 
where large trout are sometimes taken, and the 
whole of the Government water is well stored 
with perch, pike, and large chub. I speak of 
these, as most abundant, but there is no want of 
other fish, as roach, dace, gudgeons, &c. There is 
an excellent inn, and the charges are very mode- 
rate : the best months for fishing at Waltham 
Abbey are September and October. Part of the 
water belonging to Government is, I believe, 
rented by a party of gentlemen, and preserved for 
trolling. Broxbourne, the Crown, kept by Mr. T. 
Want,* is close to the river, and has the rural 
appearance of a farm-house. It is an inn remark- 
able for comfort, cleanliness, civility, and attention, 
with every moderate charges. The contemplative 
angler, who seeks repose from the bustle and 
cares of the metropolis, will be delighted with 
this snug retreat, which, at the same, time offers 
the retirement he desires, and the amusement he 
enjoys. The water is well stored with fish, and 
visitors at the house have permission to angle, 
and have live-baits found them, without subscrip- 
tion or day ticket. A friend of mine, says Mr. 
Hofland, informed me, that in October of last 
year, one gentleman caught five brace of jack and 
pike in one day, in the water belonging to the 
Crown. Page's Water : — the fishing here is 
better than the accommodation, and the best 

* Since transferred to J. Benningfield, in whose 
hands it has been wonderfully improved. 



months here, and at Brox bourne, are September 
and October. Above Page's the water is private, 
as far as Crame's lock. The Rye House, the 
King's Arms, near Hoddesden, is a favorite 
resort for London anglers, and the accommodation 
is good. The water is free for visitors, and 
abounds with fish. I have been told, that in 
October fifty pounds' weight of roach have been 
taken by one rod in one day. The river here in 
many parts is very deep and very still, which 
accounts for the number of roach it produces. 
Beyond this, to Ware, the water is, I believe, 
private property. Hoddesden is seventeen miles 
from London. 

Indications op Instinct. By T. Lind- 
ley Kemp, M.D. Longman and Co. 

This very interesting publication forms 
No- 54 of " The Traveller's Library ; and 
every page of it proves that the author is 
in love with the subjects on which he 

The book is divided into sections ; and 
treats in turn upon Plants, Insects, Reptiles, 
Fishes, &c. Where all is so instructive, it is 
somewhat difficult to make a selection; but as 
Spring is at our doors, let us introduce a few 
of Dr. Kemp's seasonable observations on 


That varied and complicated movements take 
place in many plants has long been known. But 
such have been little investigated, and the nature 
and end of them have generally been passed over 
in silence. They are, however, very clearly ex- 
amples of instinctive movement, and in many 
cases serve highly important and essential ends in 
the vegetable economy, although from our imper- 
fect observation we cannot always point out 
decidedly the results that they produce. 

A very familiar instinctive movement that 
occurs in plants, is the opening and shutting of 
the flowers. Generally, these organs are spread 
open so as to expose the stamens and pistils to 
the action of light during the day, and closed 
during the dark, so as to protect from external 
injury these delicate organs. A good deal of variety, 
however, prevails in this respect. Some plants, as 
the Portulaca oleracea, only open their flowers 
for about one hour daily, and this at mid-day. The 
Oenothera biennis, on the contrary, keeps its 
flowers shut all day, and only opens them when 
night comes on ; and when the sun rises the 
flowers close again unless it be a very cloudy day, 
in which case the plant only shuts its flowers 
partially, or not at all. The flower of the com- 
mon dandelion generally lives two days and a 
half. On the first two days it is awake, and is 
expanded in the earlier part of the day, and shuts 
at night ; but on the third day it closes about 
mid-day, and this closing is followed by the death 
of the corolla. Moisture appears necessary to 
plants of the Carlina species, ( a near relation of 
the thistle ;) and accordingly, on a dry day, the 
flowers shut, and thus lose no water by evapora- 
tion. When the atmosphere becomes charged 
with moisture, the flowers re-open. Still more 
remarkable is the Nymphaia alba, or water-lily, 
which, when night comes on, not only closes its 

flower, but gradually lowers it until it is beneath 
the surface of the water, and thus reposes sub- 

Another example of an instinctive movement 
for a very definite end, may be noticed in the com- 
mon berberry. The flower of this plant contains 
six stamens which surround a single pistil ; the 
stamens being inclined back upon the petals, and 
so away from the pistil. If, however, any of the 
stamens be touched near the base, it immediately 
starts forward to the pistil, and strikes the top of 
that organ with its anthers. It soon resumes its 
original position. Of course, the same effect is 
produced whenever an insect alights upon them. 
Whenever the anther is ripe, and an insect enters 
the flower, the filament strikes against the pistil 
with such force as to burst the anther, and thus 
scatter the pollen upon the pistil, and thereby 
produce a seed. There is another plant, the Cac- 
tus tuna, which, whenever an insect enters its 
ripe flowers, immediately inclines all its stamens 
over the pistil. In a somewhat similar manner, if 
the stalk of the stamen of the Cetasetum be dis- 
turbed, it springs up with such violence, that the 
top of it is broken off, and actually darted to a 
very considerable distance. 

The motions of the leaves of plants must have 
been noticed by every one. The most common 
instances of such are called, in ordinary language, 
the sleep of plants, although the expression is a 
bad one. The phenomenon was first noticed by 
Linnasus. He was carefully cultivating some 
lotus plants, or birds'-foot trefoil, one of which had 
two flowers. Chancing to look at the plant one 
evening, the flowers were not to be seen, and 
Linnseus supposed that some one had plucked 
them. The next morning, however, they were 
again visible, but on returning at night they had 
once more vanished. The plant was then care- 
fully examined, and it was found that the leaflets 
had altered their position, approached one another, 
and by so doing concealed the flowers. Extend- 
ing his observations, Linnaeus found that some- 
thing analogous to this occurred in all plants. 
Generally this folding of the leaves takes place as 
darkness comes on, but is in reality performed inde- 
pendently of light and darkness ; and it has been 
ascertained, that plants kept constantly in the 
dark, open and close at regular intervals. It by 
no means follows that the leaves of plants close in 
this mannner at the same hour that the flowers do. 
Berthollet watched an acacia, the leaflets of which 
closed at sunset, and unfolded at sunrise ; while its 
flowers closed at sunrise and expanded at sun- 

The manner in which leaves change their 
position is various. Some raise their leaflets so 
that their upper stalks are brought into contact, 
while others depress theirs so that their under 
surfaces meet together. Others, again, undergo 
other contractions. 

The sensitive plants afford very striking illus- 
trations of movements performed by vegetables. 
The most common of these is the Mimosa pudica, 
an annual, the leaves of which fold up on being 
touched, the phenomenon faking place at so early 
a period in the existence of the plant as from when 
its cotyledons have expanded. If the stimulant 
be applied in sufficient intensity — as if, for ex- 
ample, a leaflet be touched with a burning candle, 



or if the sun's rays be concentrated upon it by 
means of a line, this leaflet immediately moves, 
and also the one opposite to it ; both bringing their 
upper surfaces into contact, and at the same time 
inclining forwards or towards the extremity of the 
small petiole on which they are seated. Then other 
pairs of leaflets, nearest to that pair first touched, 
close one after the other in a similar manner ; and 
next the partial petioles fold together by inclining 
upwards and forwards ; after which the common 
petiole is affected, but it bends downwards, having 
its point directed towards the ground ; that is, in 
an opposite direction to that in which the previous 
movements have been made. 

Many other plants possess this property of 
taking on them extraordinary motions when any- 
thing comes into contact with them. The object 
effected by them all is, probably, to shake off slugs 
and similar vermin. Among these other plants, 
the leaves of which assume these contortions, are 
species of Smithia and Biophytum ; and in Sene- 
gal, a plant grows, called by the natives "how d'ye 
do," on account of its performing a sort of salaam 
or bow on being touched. 

In some species of plants the mere contact of 
the air apparently seems sufficient to excite a 
continual degree of spasmodic action, if the expres- 
sion may be allowed, for the sake, probably, of pro- 
tecting themselves from the depredations of insects. 
There is, for example, the Desmodium gyrans, a 
native of Bengal, where it is called Gora chand, 
and which was brought into notice by the younger 
Linnaeus. " No sooner," wrote he, "had the plants 
which he raised from seed acquired their ternate 
leaves, than they began to be in motion in every 
direction : this movement did not cease during 
the whole course of their vegetation, nor were 
they observant of any time, order, or direction ; 
one leaflet frequently revolved while the other on 
the same petiole was quiescent, sometimes a few 
leaflets only were in motion, then almost all of them 
would be in a movement at once ; the whole plant 
was very seldom agitated, and that only during 
the first year of its growth, and was not at rest even 
during the winter." Examples of this plant that 
have been cultivated in our greenhouses, although 
they have exhibited very well these strange 
movements, have not been agitated so much as 
when growing in their native country, or as those 
brought thence by Linnseus. This is probably 
owing to the careful culture of our gardeners, and 
to the climate ; both of which preserve them from 
the more active of their insect tormentors. Burnet, 
who watched their movements in a glass conserva- 
tory, made the rather remarkable discovery — that 
although they might be temporarily restrained by 
force, yet that when the restraint was removed, 
they immediately moved about with increased 
velocity, so as to make up for the time which they 
had lost. Decandolle also observed them, and he 
related that their leaves consist of three leaflets ; 
two lateral, and one central and terminal. Their 
movements, he describes, take place by little 
starts, like those of the second-hand of a watch ; 
and he further remarked that the one at one side 
went up, so as to form an angle of about fifty 
degrees over the level of the petiole, and the other 
on the opposite side went down as much. This 
process was then reversed, and repeated alter- 

nately. The terminal leaflet is also continually 
inclined first to one side and then to the other. 

There is a natural family of plants principally 
inhabiting tropical countries, and abounding at the 
Cape of Good Hope, where they are objectionable 
on account of the extremely fetid nature of the 
odor of their flowers, examples of which are occa- 
sionally cultivated here. The members of this 
family afford very extraordinary instances of in- 
stinctive movements. Plants belonging to it are 
known from all others by having their pollen grain 
contained in bags, from which their escape seems 
almost impossible. However, when the time comes 
for their seeds to be formed, a small tube grows 
from each pollen grain ; and these tubes all direct 
themselves towards a thin spot of the bag which 
holds them. This they pierce, and then direct 
themselves towards the stigma. To effect this 
object they have sometimes to ascend, sometimes 
to descend, and at other times to proceed outwards 
at right angles ; but they invariably hit the exact 
direction, according to the position of the flower, 
and arrive at the stigma ; thus the seed is fer- 

A plant grows wild in Carolina called the 
Diono&a muscipula, or Venus's fly-trap. "The 
leaves of this," says Henslow," consist of a flattened 
petiole, at the extremity of which are two fleshy 
lobes, which lie, when expanded, in the same plane 
with the petiole. These lobes are capable of being 
elevated and brought together into a position per- 
pendicular to the surface of the petiole. They 
are furnished with cilia, or bristles, round their 
margins, which stand nearly at right angles to 
their upper surface ; and there are, besides these, 
three little short bristles placed upon the upper 
surface of each lobe in a triangular order. W hen 
a fly or other insect, crawling over the surface of 
the lobes, touches either of these latter bristles, 
the irritability is excited, the lobes suddenly close, 
and the insect is imprisoned like a rat in a common 
gin. Some little time after the death of the 
insect, the lobes unfold, and wait for another 

It appears probable that the plant makes use of 
the fly, although it is difficult to conceive in what 
manner. Mr. Knight experimented upon a num- 
ber of these plants, all of which were placed so 
that no insects could get at them. He furnished 
the leaves of some with scraped beef, leaving the 
others without any such provision ; and he found 
that the plants supplied with the beef flourished 
more than the others. 

We possess in this country three species of 
Drosera, or sun-dew ; all of which exhibit similar 
instinctive movements, the result of which is to 
catch insects. The upper surface of their leaves 
is furnished with long hairs, which terminate in 
glandular and viscid globules. An insect alighting 
upon them first gets entangled in the viscid matter, 
and then the hairs begin to move in, close upon it, 
and hold it until it is dead. 

But perhaps the most extraordinary of the fly- 
catching plants is the one described (somewhat 
obscurely) by Mr. Drummond, who found it in the 
Swan River colony. The lower lip of the flower 
of it, he states, is a boat-shaped box, in which the 
anthers are situated; and the upper one, which he 
thinks is a stigma, forms a door or lid which exactly 
fits it. The hinge upon which this lid moves 



springs from the upper part of the flower, and 
" when it opens, the upper part turns round within 
the box, conies out at the bottom, and turns up 
and back — so that when fully expanded, it stands 
fairly over the flower. The moment a small insect 
touches the point of the lid, it makes a sudden 
revolution, brings in the point of the lid at the 
bottom of the box, so that it has to pass the 
anthers in its way, and makes prisoners any small 
insect that the box will hold." He adds, that if 
the insect be caught, the box remains shut for some 
time ; but that if the animal has managed to fly 
out, it soon opens again. 

Still more surprising acts of motion take place 
in the lower plants. Among the Confervce, or 
jointed Algce, is a genus called oscillatoria, the 
members of which might almost be mistaken for a 
number of worms writhing together. These shift 
their position with very considerable alacrity. If, 
for example, a patch of them be placed in water, 
in a plate, and a black bell glass be inverted over 
them in such a manner as not to quite touch the 
bottom of the plate, the conferva — in a very short 
time, will be found to have glided out at that side 
of the bell glass most exposed to light. They 
have been observed to travel in a few hours to a 
distance of ten times their own length. The young 
of certain species of them, too, when separated, 
from the mother plant, move onwards in the water 
with velocity until they reach a shady spot, when 
they take root and remain fixed. 

The climbing plants also appear to have a kind of 
instinctive motion, and those of the same species 
move always in the same direction. Those that 
move from right to left, never, under any circum- 
stances move from left to right, and vice versa. 
Thus the hop invariably turns from the left to the 
right, and the stem of the convolvulus or bind- 
weed always turns from the right to the left. 

It is probable that still more remarkable in- 
stinctive movements take place underground. 
The structure of plants consists of about a dozen 
elementary substances, all of which are present in 
fertile soil ; and it is from the soil (and also, with 
regard to one or two elements, from the air) that 
they obtain them. The roots send forth radicles, 
which move on until they arrive at particles of the 
different elements that the plant stands in need of. 
And the distance to which one of these radicles 
will so travel is often very great. Moreover, the 
difference between different plants mainly depends 
upon the varying proportions of these elements of 
which their structure, and consequently their food, 
is composed. The ash of bean, for example, is 
found to contain nearly fifty per cent, of potassa, 
and about six of silica ; while that of barley has 
not eight per cent, of potassa, and more than fifty 
of silica. If the half of a field, the soil of which 
is quite uniform, be planted with beans , and the 
other half with barley, the rootlets of the bean and 
barley plants wander along under ground until 
they come into contact with just the requisite 
quantities of those two substances ; and when they 
have obtained the requisite quantities, seek no 
more. Those of the bean plant wander on until 
they have formed the large amount of potassa, 
and those of the barley of silica ; while the bean 
roots are content with having found the small 
quantity of silica, and the barley ones the com- 
paratively small amount of the alkali. 

As is familiar to every one, there is a regular 
gradation in the different classes of living beings. 
We are in the habit of pronouncing cryptogamic 
plants as less perfect than flowering ones, polypi 
as inferior animals to reptiles, reptiles to birds, 
birds to mammals ; and among mammals we assign 
various degrees of rank, esteeming a dog or an 
elephant as superior to a sloth or a mole. It must 
not be supposed, however, that all the endowments 
go on increasing according to the scale of increas- 
ing perfection. Indeed, in one respect, in that 
which now employs us — the instincts — the very 
reverse is the case, and some of the most striking 
of the instinctive arts are to be witnessed in the 
beings that are ranked as lowest. Tins being the 
case, we should expect to find that these instinc- 
tive movements in search of food are most ener- 
getic in the lowest plants ; and such is certainly 
the case. A fungus, as a common edible mush- 
room, may be at sunset a mere dot of matter, 
scarcely or not at all appreciable to our senses ; 
and may by next morning be a large plant that 
weighs a ppund. This indicates an immense 
activity of its radicles during these few hours, and 
a degree of instinctive movement and instinctive 
selection that is very extraordinary. 

The author's remarks on Instinct and 
Reason are admirable. We shall have 
occasion to return to them hereafter. 

Rural Economy. By Martin Doyle. 

Groombridge and Sons. 

This is one of those useful, plain-spoken 
Manuals, for which the present age is famous, 
— affording, at a small cost, much practical 
information on the care and management of 
domestic animals. 

We have of late been asked a multitude of 
questions about Rabbits ; and we are enabled 
by the aid of this little brochure, to reply to 
them without loss of time. The author's 
judicious treatment and long experience 
enable him to speak oracularly. 

Almost every boy in the course of his life takes 
a fancy to rabbit-keeping ; and yet scarcely one 
boy have we met with who knows how to treat 
the animals properly. Many rabbits, we are sorry 
to say, have been starved by neglect (not wilfully 
perhaps), poisoned with filth or foul air, or other- 
wise destroyed by injurious treatment. While, 
on the other hand, many are killed with kindness ; 
by supplying them with an over-abundance of 
certain kinds of food improper for them. We 
now wish to point out these things, and to give 
judicious practical directions for the management 
of rabbits. 

Rabbit House. — The first and most important 
matter is to have a good dry house or shed, in 
which the animals can be well protected from 
damp weather. Too much moisture is as fatal to 
rabbits as it is to sheep. It gives them the rot. 
Dampness may. be all very well for fishes ; but it 
is not good for men, women, and children ; nor yet 
for horses, cows, pigs, poultry, bees, or rabbits ; 
these all thrive better, and are preserved from 
many diseases, by being protected from it. 

But though you keep out the wet from your 
rabbit-house, you must not at the same time ex- 



elude fresh air ; for rabbits can no more be in health 
without fresh air than human beings. It is sheer 
folly to suppose that any living creature can be 
maintained in health and vigor without an ample 
supply of that " balm of life," fresh air. Disease 
and death are the natural consequences of a 
vitiated atmosphere. 

Many writers advise that rabbits should not be 
kept in hutches, but in little houses, so constructed 
that they may have protection from the weather, 
and at the same time enjoy their liberty and 
amuse themselves. This house may be built 
about four or five feet square, as may be conve- 
nient; with a roof formed to carry off the rain. 
The floor should be boarded or paved,' to prevent 
the rabbits from burrowing, and have hay or straw 
laid on it. Some boxes must be provided, placed 
on the floor, with the open side downwards, and 
with holes at the sides for the rabbits to go in or 
out. Sliding doors to these boxes are convenient, 
to shut in the rabbits when necessary. 

In the front of the house there should be a little 
court or yard railed off, into which, the rabbits 
may be allowed to run when the weather is dry ; 
and here they will sport and enjoy themselves, 
and give you opportunities of observing their 
pretty antics. 

But this house will only do for young rabbits, 
or until they are about five months old. After 
that age they would begin to tear each other to 
pieces, if left together. All the pleasure you 
had in witnessing their former harmony and 
happiness, would be gone. The bucks would fight 
dreadfully, and the " litters" the does might have 
would be destroyed ; so that it is necessary that 
breeding does should be kept in hutches, and the 
bucks separated from one another. But we never- 
theless advise that young rabbits should be 
allowed to have their liberty in such a house, as 
they will be far more healthy, and will grow much 
better than when they are cooped up in hutches, 
where they have no room to exercise their limbs. 
Rabbits of any age, from the time they are taken 
from the doe (up to five months old), may be 
introduced among the " happy family'''' in the 
house. They will be received with cordiality, 
and will skip and caper about with pleasure ; 
just as boys may do who live in peace and love 
with their companions. 

Hutches. — The hutches should be made as 
large as convenient, that the rabbits may not be 
cramped for want of exercise : those for breeding- 
does must have a partition, so as to form two 
apartments — one for feeding, the other as a bed. 
Single hutches, that is with one room only, will do 
for young rabbits or for bucks to be kept in. The 
door of the feeding apartment should have wires 
in it, but that of the bed-place must be of wood, 
as the doe likes darkness and concealment when 
she has her litter. It is well to have a sliding- 
board to divide the two compartments, and to 
shut out the rabbits when the hutch is to be 
cleaned ; as it is very inconvenient to do this with 
the rabbits running about. The floors of the 
hutches should be quite smooth, that the wet may 
run off; and in order to facilitate this, a small slit 
or opening in the floor, at the back of the hutch, 
should be made, and the hutch itself be put sloping, 
— a little higher at front than at the back, for when 
rabbits have much green food, there is a con- 

siderable quantity of moisture which requires to 
be drained off, that the creatures may be kept dry 
and clean ; and if proper means be taken to re- 
ceive this into a drain, it forms a very valuable 
liquid manure. 

The hutches may be arranged one above the 
other, around the house, to any convenient height ; 
only it must be observed, that each row of hutches 
should project at the back beyond that under it, 
in order that the wet may not run down into the 
hutch beneath. If a trough be placed on the 
floor behind the hutches, it will serve to carry off 
the liquid manure into some convenient recep- 

Feeding Troughs are usually made in the 
form of a long open box, but this is inconvenient 
in many respects, as the young rabbits get in and 
spoil the food, and the older ones scratch out 
much of it, tread it under foot, and waste it. A 
better plan is to have a swinging board in front, 
the cost of which is soon made up by the food 
saved. The rabbits, when they take their food, 
push this board inwards with their forehead ; and 
when the head is withdrawn, the board flaps back 
against the front of the trough. Some persons 
have a lid to the trough, which the rabbit soon 
learns to lift, and which shuts down again of itself 
as soon as the head is taken out of the way. 

There are many kinds of raebits, varying in 
size, form, color, length of legs or fur, and position 
of the ears ; but the races have been so continu- 
ously intermixed and varied, by breeding, that it 
is a difficult task to point out any distinct kind as 
preferable. The smallest and short legged variety 
of the color of the wild rabbit, appears to be the 
hardiest. Boys generally prize lop-ears ; though 
they are scarcely so pretty in appearance as the 
common kind. There is a single or double lop, 
according as one only, or both ears, are dropped. 
Smuts, too, are favorites ; either single or double. 
The smut is a black spot on the side of the rabbit's 
nose, and a spot on each side constitutes the 
double smut. Some of these are very beautiful 
creatures, having a white silvery fur, with rich, 
glossy black spots ; and they are generally large- 
sized rabbits. 

Food. — This is an important matter. Babbits 
eat a very great quantity. You must not think 
that because they are little animals, they require 
only a little food. They want much more than 
you do, in proportion to their size ; and to give 
them proper kinds of food, in sufficient quantity, 
and at a low expense, constitutes the chief question 
as regards their profit. How often do we hear it 
said, and how generally true is the saying, " Oh ! 
my rabbits never pay, they eat their heads ofl'," 
&c. ; meaning, that the expense of the food con- 
sumed more than counterbalances the advantage 
gained. Now t this arises from want of knowledge. 
For the greater part of the year, rabbits may be 
kept almost entirely upon food procured from the 
field or garden. Although green food is naturally 
the food of rabbits, yet, because when injudiciously 
supplied it scours and gives them the rot, it is er- 
roneously supposed that it must be almost en- 
tirely withheld. It is true, that if it be given to 
them in a wet state after rain, if it consist of one 
kind of vegetable only, or if it be of a watery 
kind — a bad effect takes place ; but when the 
green food is given in sufficient variety, and with 



a small supply of good dry hay or oats daily , there 
is not the least fear in giving an unlimited 

We fed our own rahbits last summer, entirely on 
green food, for several weeks. This principally 
consisted of carrot and parsnip tops, strawberry 
leaves, French bean pods in their unripe state, 
lettuces, groundsel, and other plants. Cabbage 
we use as little as possible ; the rabbits do not 
much like it, and it is not very good for them. 

We will now give a list of many of the vegetables 
that are good food for rabbits. All through the 
summer there will be an ample supply from the 
garden and hedges. Dandelion, groundsel, sow- 
thistle, dock-leaves, peas-haulm, lettuce ; straw- 
berry, raspberry, and currant leaves ; carrot, 
parsnip, potato, and horseradish tops; all kinds 
of grasses, celery ; French-beans in the pod, vine- 
dressings, apple-parings, &c, &c. But we need 
not further enumerate, when there is scarcely any 
vegetable which rabbits will not eat ; but before 
all other things, they prefer parsley, carrot-tops, 
French-beans'— both leaves, stalks, and pods. 

As soon as the peas and kidney-beans have 
done bearing, let them be pulled up and given to 
the rabbits, together with all the pods not wanted 
for use. In the autumn, when green food becomes 
scarcer, we give the waste scarlet-runner stalks, 
of which they are very fond ; also the leaves 
which now fall in abundance from the apple and 
other trees ; and when the garden supplies fail, 
there is generally plenty of marsh-mallows, dock, 
ground-ivy, and grasses from the hedges, to form 
an abundance of green food for some time longer. 
In the winter, carrots, parsnips, Swede and com 
mon turnips, together with brewers' grains, mixed 
with toppings or pollard, supply the lack of fresh 
vegetables. We never use grains in the summer, 
because they so soon turn sour and mouldy ; and 
much better food can then be obtained. 

We must not omit to tell you that rabbits like 
the young bark of trees ; for this reason we supply 
ours in the winter with small branches and twigs, 
which they either strip or entirely consume. We 
throw to the young ones the prunings of vines, 
currant, apple, and other trees, except such as 
laurels and evergreens, said to be poisonous. 
Nibbling these twigs is excellent amusement for 
rabbits, and besides keeping them in health, 
serves as a portion of their food. 

Here, then, we have shown that there is no need 
for starving rabbits, when there is such an 
abundant variety of food suitable for them, and at 
all times to be procured. One writer observes, 
that when rabbits die, ninety-nine times out of 
the hundred starvation is the malady; and par- 
ticularly short-feeding the doe while and before 
she has young ones. 

Feeding. — It is best to feed rabbits three, or 
even four times a-day ; because, when they are fed 
only twice during that time, a larger quantity of 
food must be given at each feeding, which is too 
often wasted. Rabbits appear to relish their food 
best when given in small quantities, and you will 
soon learn how much to give at each time you 
feed, so as to avoid waste, and yet for the rabbits 
to have enough. The does must be well kept, as 
we have just said, both before and after they have 
young ones ; or it is useless to expect their pro- 
duce to be vigorous and healthy. A doe with a 

litter will eat twice as much as at any other time, 
and must be liberally supplied with green food 
and carrots and parsnips, raw or boiled ; as well as 
with oats and hay. A few days both before and 
after hitting, every evening, we give to our does a 
few table -spoonfuls of gruel, made either with 
flour or oatmeal ; and we find this a good practice, 
as the animal appears to suffer a good deal from 
thirst about that period ; care must be taken not 
to give this while it is hot, nor is it necessary to 
give much when there is an abundance of green 
meat. A little cold water or milk may be given 
instead of the gruel; we have never found it to 
hurt any of our rabbits. 

Young rabbits, when they first come out to 
feed, must not be allowed to eat the greens with 
which the doe is supplied ; but they may nibble 
at carrots and other roots, and at the little twigs 
we have mentioned, and gradually be accustomed 
to partake of a more moist diet. 

Breeding. — Rabbits begin to breed when about 
five or six months old, and will give seven or 
eight litters in the year ; though it is better to 
allow them only to have five, as too frequent 
breeding is injurious. In thirty days after being 
with the buck, the doe produces her young. A 
few days before the time, some hay must be given 
to her, with which, and the down she pulls from 
her fur, she will construct her bed. It is always 
a sign of the approaching birth of the young, 
when she begins to bite down the hay, or carry it 
about in her mouth, and to tear the flue from her 
body. There are generally from four to ten 
young ones, sometimes more ; but it is far better 
when the doe has so many, to keep only five or 
six of the finest ; they will then grow up strong 
and healthy, and the doe will not be so much 
weakened as if all had been preserved. At the 
end of six weeks, the young brood may be removed ; 
and the doe and buck come together again. Great 
care is required during very severe weather, to 
prevent the young from dying with cold ; and for 
this reason it is better to allow the doe to rest 
during the winter. The best breeding rabbits 
are said to be those produced in March. 

Like all other animals, rabbits degenerate when 
much breeding takes place among the same race 
for a long period; this is called, breeding "in 
and in." It is proper, therefore, to make 
changes from time to time, by procuring a fresh 
kind to improve your stock. Rabbit fanciers pay 
some attention to this ; but if it were made more 
a matter of science, as it is with the race-horse, a 
very superior breed of rabbits might be pro- 

Fattening.— There is no need to resort to any 
other method in preparing rabbits for the table, 
than to give them as much oats, carrots, and 
green food as they choose to take. If fattened 
with corn alone, the flesh is not so juicy and 
relishing as when they are also allowed an un- 
limited quantity of vegetables. They are in the 
greatest perfection from about three to seven 
months old; and about a month's feeding, as 
advised, will make them thoroughly fat, provided 
they have not been half-starved previously. The 
London poulterers exhibit fine specimens of fatted 
rabbits at Christmas ; some we have seen weighing 
upwards of fifteen pounds ; but it is not desir- 



able to produce such over-fat animals, whether 
rabbits, or oxen, or sheep. 

Diseases. — Babbits are generally very healthy 
and hardy. When due attention is paid to their 
food, to ventilation, and cleanliness, few animals 
are less subject to disease. But, as in all other 
cases, filth, foul air, and damp, produce disease in 
rabbits. Looseness, which may be seen by what 
passes from them being too moist,must be remedied 
by dry food ; such as crusts of bread, good corn, 
old hay, hard biscuit, or any food of a dry quality. 
The rot may be said to be incurable ; at least 
we have found it so with young rabbits. The 
remedy must be looked for in dry hutches, fresh 
air, and substantial food. The liver complaint, 
another disorder, is said to be also incurable ; 
but as it does not prevent the rabbits from 
fattening, the best course is to prepare those 
attacked at once for the table. Snuffles or colds 
may be cured, by removing the rabbit from the 
damps and draughts which have produced the 
disorder, to a drier and warmer place. It is much 
easier to prevent disease than to cure. Cleanli- 
ness, careful attention, dryness, and regular 
feeding in the manner we have directed, will in 
general ensure good health in the rabbits, and 
entirely prevent any of these diseases. 

Profits. — Rabbits are really profitable. Three 
does and a buck will give you a rabbit to eat 
for every three days in the year, which is a very 
much larger quantity of food than any man will 
get by spending half his time in the pursuit of 
wild animals, — to say nothing of the toil, the 
tearing of clothes, and the danger of pursuing the 
latter. When the amazing fecundity of the 
rabbit is taken into account, it will readily be 
seen, that if the expense of food and management 
can be kept low, a great profit may be obtained. 
It is said that from a single pair of rabbits, the 
prodigious number of 1,274,840 may be produced 
in four years — supposing all the rabbits to live. 
We have shown how the least possible expense as 
to food may be attained, by pointing out the food 
which costs least ; and yet is quite suitable for 
the animals. And there appears to be no good 
reason why a person, living in the country, who 
has a shed and a garden, should not derive ad- 
vantage from the keeping of rabbits. When the 
care of them can be entrusted to boys, the cost of 
management would of course be diminished. The 
value of the manure, either for sale or for the 
garden, is considerable, as it is very valuable. 
For any person living in a town, who has all the 
food to purchase, — to attempt to keep rabbits for 
profit is out of the question. 

The book abounds in useful advice on a 
multitude of subjects, and we have great 
pleasure in recommending it to public notice. 

Household Words. February. Office, 
Wellington Street. 

To offer any critical opinion on a periodical 
like this, is not requisite. An example will 
best speak of its interesting features. Let 
us borrow a few passages from an article on 
"Popular Science," — rendering "common 
things " familiar, and putting ignorance to 
the blush. Alas ! what a short-sighted 

being a man is ! Many are born — live — 
and die, without knowing or caring to know 
the why and because of anything that is 
passing around them ! This is not a happy, 
but a lamentable ignorance. 

The subject we select is that which treats 
of, or rather commences with 


M. Durand, says the writer, lectured on Minera- 
logy in Paris, about fifty years ago, and he thought 
he proved that there was sensibility in stones. 
His great point was the love of the stone for the 
sun. It was quite a rose and nightingale scandal. 
Take a solution of salt, put one half of it in the 
sun ; keep the rest in darkness. Superb crystals 
will form under the kiss of the sun, while in the 
shade the salt and water still remain salt and 
water. Light, said M. Durand, goes therefore 
into the composition of a crystal. Diamonds are 
almost wholly composed of sunlight ; they are only 
found in places where the sun gives heat and light 
enough to make them. Now, said the French 
philosopher, what do you call that reception of 
light to the bosom of a stone — what can you call 
that but love ? He went farther ; and asserting 
that all the highest mountains are placed under 
the equator, called them lumps of sunlight. They 
are imitations of the salt experiment on a large 
scale. Their granite peaks are crystallised light; 
but incomplete crystals. Give them more light 
and they will be complete — they will become 
crystals of the sublimest order, they will be 
diamonds — real Koh-i-noors, or mountains of light. 
If the sun were but a little brighter and a little 
hotter, Chimborazo would be all one diamond, the 
Himalayas would be diamond steeps, and all 
towns in the East over the sunny side of their walls 
would have diamond turrets like Amberabad. 
Every sun-baked brick of Egypt would in that 
case become a jewel worth some quarts of Koh-i- 

All this is the result of the sensibilities of stones. 
The whole earth, many old sages believed — 
Kepler among them — was alive. M. Patrin taught 
of the earth how metals, plants, and minerals 
were formed by the gas in its body. It was not, 
to be sure, sensible like a man, but like a world. 
It could not talk words, but it could talk things. 
This is not so very absurd. If the things in 
nature be not sensible, they certainly are not 
stupid. Look at a tree or a shrub. Bonuet used 
to say that at the end of all his study he could not 
see the difference between a cat and a rosebush. 
Let us see what the wits are that a rosebush has. 
Look at its leaves, with their smooth glittering 
surface turned to the sky ; but their under-sur- 
faces, all soft and full of pores, open to catch the 
moisture rising from the soil — half-open when 
they need only a little, closed when they want 
none. The rain that falls upon the waxy roof 
made by the upper surface of the foliage runs off, 
and is dropped into the ground just over the 
sucking ends of all the rootlets. Turn some of 
those rose-leaves upside down. Lay a cat on her 
back, and she will not consent to remain in that 
unnatural position. The rose-leaf, too, objects to 
be inverted. A man may bend a branch so that 
its leaves all hang with the wrong side upwards ; 
but let him watch it. He will observe how all 



the little leaves slowly and very carefully begin to 
turn upon their stems. At the end of a few hours 
every leaf will have brought round its polished 
surface to the light, and be holding its open 
mouths again over the ground for drink. 

Is the plant stupid ? It knows what it wants 
and likes, and if that be within reach will get it. 
Put the rose-tree into soil with dry bad earth on 
its right hand, and rich soil upon his left. _ You 
will not find it suffering its roots to be long in the 
dark about the trick that has been played them. 
They start out of course as usual, and as the 
mail-coaches used to do, in all directions; but 
those that begin their journey through poor dust, 
receive in a mysterious way some information of 
the better land that is to be found by travel in a 
contrary direction. Accordingly they all turn 
back to follow their companions who have gone 
into the richer pasturage. Propose to put those 
roots into jail, by digging a trench round the tree, 
or sinking a stone wall into the earth around it. 
The rootlets dive into the ground until they have 
reached the bottom of the obstacle, then pass it, 
and run up again until they find the level that 
best pleases them. 

Who will now undertake to say that a plant is 
not sensible ? Go into the fields, and yon will 
tread upon a multitude of flowers that know better 
than you do which way the wind blows, what 
o'clock it is, and what is to be thought about the 
weather. The calendula arvensis opens in fine 
weather, and shuts up when rain is coming. The 
sonchus sibiricus shuts at the end of each day's 
business, but only remains tranquilly asleep when 
she has no doubts at all about the morrow, when 
she knows it will be fine. Let a^ traveller seek 
shelter from the sun under an acacia with thorns 
white as ivory, called by Linnaeus the mimosa 
eburnia. The dark shade on the sand, perhaps, 
becomes suddenly dotted with light ; he looks up, 
and observes thai his parasolis shutting itself up ; 
that every leaf is putting itself to bed. If he 
will look closely he may observe, too, that the 
leaves sleep by the dozen in a bed, nestling to- 
gether in small heaps. The traveller has nothing 
to complain about ; he does not need the shade ; 
there is a cloud over the sun. 

The tree thinks — one is almost obliged to say, 
the tree thinks — that perhaps it will come on to 
rain. There is no reason why its whole roots 
should not be watered in the arid soil, and there 
is no reason why its leaves, delicately set on 
slender stems, should be beaten from their hold- 
ings. The leaves, therefore, are shut up and 
drawn together in small bundles, that they may 
find in union the strength which in isolation they 
do not possess. While, at the same time, room is 
left for the rain to pass between them to water the 

There is not an hour of the day that is not the 
beloved hour of some blossom, which to it alone 
opens her heart. Linnaeus conceived the pleasant 
notion of a flower clock. Instead of a rude metal 
bell to thump the hour, there is a little flower bell 
ready to break out at three o'clock ; a flower star 
that will shine forth at four ; and a cup, perhaps, 
will appear at five o'clock, to remind old-fashioned 
folk that it is tea-time. Claude Lorraine, although 
he did not make a clock of four-and-twenty flowers 
in his garden, was a landscape-painter most 

familiar with nature ; and when he was abroad 
he could at any time know what o'clock it was 
by asking the time of the flowers of the field. It 
would have been of no use for him to ask a cat. 
The peasants of Auvergne and Languedoc all have 
at their doors beautiful barometers, in which there 
is no glass, quicksilver, or joiner's work. They 
were furnished by the flowers. 

Now, put a spider into any lady's hand. She 
is aghast. She shrieks. The nasty ugly thing ! 
Madam, the spider is perhaps shocked at your 
Brussels laces ; and, although you may be the 
most exquisite miniature-painter living, the spider 
has a right to laugh at your coarse daubs as she 
runs over them. Just show her your crochet 
work when you shriek at her. " Have you spent 
half your days," the spider, if she be spiteful, may 
remark, — " have you spent half your days upon 
the clumsy anti-macassars and these ottoman 
covers ? My dear lady, is that your web ? If I 
were big enough, I might with reason drop you 
and cry out at you. Let me spend a day with 
you and bring my work. I have four little bags 
of thread, such little bags ! In every bag there 
are more than a thousand holes, such tiny, tiny 
boles ! Out of each hole thread runs, and all the 
threads — more than four thousand threads — I spin 
together as they run, and when they are all spun, 
they make but one thread of the web I weave. I 
have a member of my family who is herself no 
bigger than a grain of sand. Imagine what a 
slender web she makes, and of that too, each 
thread is made of four or five thousand threads 
that have passed out of her four bags through four 
or five thousand little holes. W T ould you drop 
her too, crying out about your delicacy? A 
pretty thing indeed, for you to plume yourselves 
on delicacy and scream at us!" Having made 
such a speech, we may suppose that the indignant 
creature fastens a rope round one of the rough 
points in the lady's hand and lets herself down 
lightly to the floor. Coming down stairs is noisy, 
clumsy work, compared with such a way of loco- 

The creeping things we scorn, are miracles of 
beauty. They are more delicate than any ormolu 
clock or any lady's watch made, for pleasure's 
sake, no bigger than a shilling. Lyonnet counted 
four thousand and forty-one muscles in a single 
caterpillar ; and these are a small part only of its 
works. Hooke found fourteen thousand mirrors 
in the eye of a bluebottle ; and there are thirteen 
thousand three hundred separate bits, that go to 
provide for nothing but the act of breathing, in a 

Then there are wonders of locomotion in the 
world greater than any steam-engine can furnish. 
When the hart seeks the water-brooks, how many 
things are set in action ! Eyes to see where the 
water is, muscles to move the feet, nerves to 6tir 
the muscles, and a will— no man knows how — to 
stir the nerves. There are swift creatures who 
depend for self protection on their legs, as hares 
and horses. Others less quick of movement 
commonly have weapons, as the bull or the 
rhinoceros. Birds living in marshes have long 
legs, as Frenchmen living in marshes, in the 
department of the Landes, make for themselves 
long legs by using stilts. Marsh birds have stilts 
born with them. The legs of animals are pro- 



portioned always to their bulk and to their habits. 
The huge body of the elephant stands upon four 
thick pillars, the stag has supports of a lighter 
and nimbler quality. Animals that get some of 
their living in the water, as beavers, otters, swans, 
ducks, and geese, are born with paddles on their 
feet. The mole, again, is born with spades on his 
fore legs ; and the camel is born with his feet 
carefully padded, with his head lifted high above 
the sand waves, and his eyes carefully protected 
from glare and dust. One might think through 
a volume, to good purpose, about legs. Every 
creature has the legs it wants. A traveller in 
Africa relates how his baggage mule stumbled 
and fell, and could retain no footing over ground 
covered with fresh traces of the hippopotamus. 
The hippopotamus was born with clouts, and had 
the right feet for his own country ; the mule was 
on a soil for which it had not been created. 

Let us watch the movement of a little thing. 
How does a butterfly escape a bird ? By tacking. 
It flies, when pursued, with a sharp zig-zag 
motion. Let us compare strength with strength. 
The commonest of beetles is in proportion six 
times stronger than the horse. Linnaeus said of 
the elephant, that if it were as strong for its size 
as a stag-beetle, it would be able to tear up the 
stoutest trees and knock down mountains. 

The movements of birds upon the wing, furnish 
a familiar world of wonders. Some fly like 
arrows; some describe circles in the sky; and 
others take a waving undulating course. There 
are birds everywhere, and they are capable of 
almost anything; what one bird cannot do 
another can. There are birds of the earth, birds 
of the water, and birds of the air. There are 
birds that scream at sea among the tempests ; 
birds that sing at home of a calm evening in the 
tree shading the cottage door. There are birds 
that nest upon the soil in open plains ; and there 
are birds that live in caverns. Birds of the wood, 
birds of the mountain, birds that love towns and 
houses; birds living alone in deserts. 

We have heard of the singing of swans. It is 
npt quite a fable. During the winter nights, 
flocks of swans traverse the frozen plains of Ice- 
land, filling the air with harmonies like murmurs 
of the lyre. There is perfect time kept at the 
concert which they give. The ablest bird opens 
the chant ; a second follows ; then a third ; and 
finally, the whole choir fills the sky with melody. 
The air is full of modulated utterances and re- 
sponses, which the Icelander in his warm cabin is 
glad to hear ; for he knows then, that the spring 
weather is at hand. 

There are more harmonies in nature than mere 
sounds afford. The world about us is all harmony, 
of which w r e can perceive only a part. The 
Cephisus that watered the gardens of the 
Academy, has disappeared with the woods of 
Mount Hymettus. The old Scamander has 
disappeared with the cedars of Mount Ida, under 
which it had its source. The climate of Italy 
was milder than it is, less relentless in its heat, 
before the destruction of the forests of the Tyrol. 
He who cuts down a tree, destroys a colony of 
insects, a home or haunt of many birds, a source 
of food to quadrupeds perhaps, or even to man. 
The plantain tree, that shades a fountain or 
hangs over the marshy borders of a stream, is a 

beautiful object. Between the river and the tree 
there is a harmony. The Persians were scourged 
with pestilential maladies from their marsh-bor- 
dered rivers, until they called the plantain trees 
to their aid. " There has been no epidemic at 
Ispahan," says Chardin, " since the Persians 
thus adorned their river sides and gardens." 

We may consider, too, the harmony of colors. 
Raffaelle was not more choice about his painting, 
than we find the sun to be. As winter departs, 
the modest violet first blossoms beneath a veil 
of leaves. The modesty means need of shelter. 
Protecting leaves radiate back upon the fragrant 
little flower all the heat that departs from it. As 
the snows disappear, blossoms of other flowers 
open which display themselves more boldly, but 
they are blanched, or nearly so. In the passage 
from the last snows of winter to the first blossoms 
of spring, the harmony of color ispeserv ed — 
hillsides and orchards are laden with a delicate 
white, varied rarely by the pink upon the almond- 
trees. Petals of apple-blossom floating on the 
wind mimic the flakes of snow that were so lately 
seen. As the warm season advances, colors 
deepen until we come to the dark crimson of 
autumn flowers, and the brownnessofthe autumn 
leaves. This change is meant not only to be 
beautiful — it has its use. " Why" are the first 
spring flowers all white, or nearly white ? 
"Because," when the winds are still cold, and 
when the sun is only moderately kind, a flower 
would be chilled to death if its heat radiated from 
it rapidly. But radiation takes place most freely 
from dark colors — from black, from the strongly 
defined greens, and blues, and reds. In the hot 
weather, flowers and leaves so colored, cool them- 
selves more readily of nights, and form upon their 
surfaces the healing dew. In early spring, there 
is little need of dew or of facilities for cooling. 
The delicate spring flowers are, therefore, of a 
color that is least ready to encourage radiation. 

For the same reason — because white substances 
give out least freely the heat that they contain 
or cover — arctic animals are white as their native 
snows. For the same reason, too, the snow 
itself is white. When cold becomes severe, snow 
falls and hangs like a fur mantle about the soil. 
If snow were black, or red, or blue, it would still 
let some of the heat escape which is retained 
under its whiteness. The colors, even of men, 
darken in hot climates ; in the hottest they are 
made quite black. 


Talk to my heart, oh Winds ! 
Talk to my heart to-night ! 
My spirit always finds 
With you a new delight, — 
Finds always new delight 
In your silver talk at night. 

Give me your soft embrace, — 
As you used to long ago, 
In your shadowy trysting place, 
When you seem'd to love me so; 
When you meekly kiss'd me so, 
On the green hills long ago. 

Alice Carey. 





'Tis not. alone to please the sense of smell 

Or charm the sight, that flowers to us are given ; 

A thousand sanctities do them invest, 

And bright associations hallow them ! 

These to the cultivated intellect 

Do give delight, and all the heart improve. 

ery precious to the lovers 
of Nature are those few 
flowers which brave the 
severity of our winter 
months, and put forth their 
beauties at every interval be- 
tween the frosts and snows of 
our rough and dreary season. 
We can very well imagine the exquisite 
pleasure, after a Canadian winter has for 
months cut off all communion with plants 
and flowers, of the sudden burst of vegetation, 
and the rapid progress and quick succession of 
revivin.1 nature ; but we must confess a pre- 
ference for our own more varying climate, in 
which we are not obliged for any long period 
to give up our interest in our gardens, and 
even in very harsh and chilling weather some 
stray blossom will peep forth — often pushing 
from beneath the half-melted snow — to con- 
nect through ail our months the blooming 
wreath of the circling year. 

It is a cheering sight, in January or 
February, as the particular season or situ- 
ation may permit, to see the damp, rough 
ground, opening to admit the passage of the 
pretty modest flower Ave mean now to speak 
of, which soon expands itself fully, looking 
to the uninstructed eye something like a 
dwarf buttercup — and, in truth, it has a near 
relationship with that familiar favorite of 
our childhood. But let us examine it a little 
more closely — and that we may do this to 
good purpose, a few preliminary remarks 
will be found useful by those who are new 
to such subjects, or have not been led to a 
right method of considering them. 

The flower is the reproductive system of 
vegetables. Its parts are reducible to four ; 
occupying successive circles round a common 
centre, and all consisting of modifications of 
the leaf. The four circles are, however, by 
no means all present in every flower, and 
each is occasionally multiplied ; so that the 
variety we see in flowers may be referred 
almost entirely to the suppression or de- 
velopment, the equal or unequal nourishment 
(causing regularity or irregularity), and the 
comparative nearness or remoteness (leading 
to union or separation) of these parts. If we 
combine these circumstances with the peculia- 
rities of surface, substance, and mode of folding 
in the bud, of each particular kind, and with 
the characteristic numbers in the circles, 
which, when not concealed by partial sup- 
pression, mark the two great divisions of the 

higher portion of the vegetable kingdom, we 
have the key to all the vast variety in the 
structure of flowers which calls forth so much 
admiration. From the simplest known form 
in which but a simple organ of one kind re- 
mains, to the instances which exhibit the 
greatest multiplication or composition of 
parts, we learn to view all in their relations 
to the others, and amidst apparent differences 
to trace the real resemblances. 

The four principal circles consist of an outer 
leaf-like covering ; an inner, generally more 
delicate and colored covering, also leaf-like 
in form ; a set of organs which are the source 
of fertilisation to the seed ; and a set of 
organs producing on their margins the seeds 
themselves, which are the eggs of plants, 
and providing for their nourishment until 
they are ready for an independent existence. 

After this general description, in which 
technical terms have been entirely avoided — 
since, though easily learned and useful to 
the student, they are repulsive to those who 
merely seek a little general information, and 
they do not constitute the science, but are 
only a short-hand, convenient to those who 
pursue it, — every one will find it easy to 
understand the peculiarities of the flower of 
which we are speaking. 

A ruff of green surrounds it ; but it is 
hardly a part of it. We might almost think 
that the flower-bud rises from the midst of an 
ordinary leaf which is but slightly changed. 
It does not at all wrap round the flower to 
protect it, but spreads itself out just like the 
partitions of the leaf where no flower occurs. 
The outer circle, which in so many flowers 
is green, and of the substance of a leaf — here, 
though greenish at first, soon becomes bright 
yellow. There are six parts (in another 
known species eight) arising, in fact, from two 
imperfect circles of five each. The second 
circle, which in most flowers is the most 
conspicuous colored and ornamental one, 
here consists of a set of low green cups, con- 
taining nectar — a peculiarity of structure 
which marks the hellebores, and may be 
seen in the Christmas rose, and the common 
green hellebore, as well as in the plant before 

These are exquisitely beautiful, and 
deserve careful examination. Who can see 
without admiration the provision thus stored 
up to supply the wants of the early wander- 
ing insect ? Who can look upon the 
regularly formed two-lipped vessels, each 
filled with its sparkling self-produced drop, 
without feeling that there is here a, gift for 
some creature, which chance has not be- 
stowed, but which speaks to the heart of the 
intelligent observer, of a wise and benefit ent 
Author of Nature ? 

The third floral circle is, in the case before 
us, very much multiplied, generally reaching 

Vol. V.— 7. 



the number of from twenty to thirty parts — 
little thread-like organs terminating in a pair 
of membranous cases, containing minute 
granules. In this tribe the cases turn their 
openings, which are vertical slits, outwards — 
an observation which, minute as it seems, is 
not unworthy of attention. 

The remaining parts are the seed-bearing 
leaves, which, in this flower, number six or 
eight, representing two circles. 

The common form of the organ is, to have 
its extremity lengthened out and glandular 
at the tip ; whilst the germs are borne on the 
margin of the transformed leaf which folds 
on itself, uniting at the edge — often the 
pressure allows but a single germ to come to 
perfection. It is very common for the 
several organs of this kind belonging to one 
flower to be combined by pressure from 
without into one mass, forming a compound 
seed-vessel; occasionally, all but one are 
suppressed, in which case we have a single 
simple seed-vessel, such as in the pea-pod. 

In the case before us, all the parts of all 
the circles remain separate, which is charac- 
teristic of the great natural family to which 
it belongs ; but instead of the numerous, 
single-seeded, closely-fitting seed vessels, 
giving the idea of so many naked seeds, of 
many of its allies, our plant has six or eight 
pods, each with several seeds ; thus showing 
itself to belong to the section of the Helle- 
bores. Within each seed the infant germ, 
which is very minute, is enfolded in a fleshy 
substance, called, from a supposed resem- 
blance in nature to the white of an egg, 
albumen, which is altogether wanting in many 
seeds, and of which the absence or presence 
is noted as of great importance. 

There is an underground stem, from 
beneath which the root fibres proceed ; 
swelled at the buds, and which increases so 
as to make the plant easy to introduce. The 
leaves rise out of the ground on their own 
peculiar stalks, and each consists of several 
pieces spread equally around a centre. It is 
a native of various parts of Europe, chiefly 
towards the south — as in France, Switzerland, 
Austria, and Italy. Few gardens are withont 
it, and none ought to be; since it is at the 
same time pretty in itself, easily procured, 
and, in the earliness of its flowering season, 
possesses a rare and much-prized charm. 

The botanical name is Eranthis hyeraalis. 
These botanical names frighten away many 
persons from the study of flowers ; yet they 
are really a great assistance, and without 
them no one could acquire or retain a 
knowledge of any considerable number of 
plants. Common vernacular names are often 
uncertain in their application, often merely 
local ; of no use in communicating with 
foreigners, and of no assistance in connecting 
the particular species in our memories, with 

its allies, or enabling us to refer it to its place 
in a general system ; without which our best 
observations would be a mass of confusion, 
and we could hardly be said to have advanced 
a step in the knowledge of Nature. English 
names, if made precise enough to be of any 
use, become stiff and formal ; and quite as 
difficult as those which equally belong to all 
the world. The two names which we apply 
to an object, tell us the family to which it 
immediately belongs, and its own distinctive 

When the instructed botanist hears the 
names we have announced, he remembers 
that Eranthis is a small family ; or to use the 
scientific term, a genus, closely allied to 
Helleborus, with which it agrees in its regular 
flower, and in its interior floral envelope or 
circle of petals assuming the form of honey- 
cups ; whilst the green leafy circle under the 
flower, the fading and falling outer floral 
circle or calyx, and a little difference in the 
shape and arrangement of the seeds, are 
thought to justify its having a name of its 

The hellebores, with the columbines, 
larkspurs,and monks'-hoods, form the tribe of 
the Helleboracece, which is one of the leading 
divisions of the great natural order of Ra- 
nunculacece, including, with other families, 
those well-known ones, Clematis, Anemone, 
Ranunculus, and Pceonia. 

All this, which occurs at once to the 
memory of the well-informed botanist, is 
easily learned from books even by a beginner ; 
and by taking the trouble to look over a few 
descriptions, and compare a few plates with 
living specimens, he sees what is common to 
all the allies, and forms the conception of a 
distinct natural group with which the little 
subject of these remarks is thenceforth con- 

W. Hincks, F.L.S. 



Why should the young despair, or turn aside, 
As through lost fortitude, from seeking good ? 
Take courage, Youth ! pursue the paths pur- 
By all who virtue love. Truth be thy guide ! 
What though with much temptation straitly 
tried ? 
Temptations have been, and may be withstood. 
'Tis better to subdue than be subdued ; 
O'er self to triumph is man's proper pride. 
Why should the young despond? — they have not 
The soul grow stern, the world become a void. 
Sweet influences still their hearts can melt ; 
Theirs, too, are treasures they have ne'er em- 
ployed ; 
Science and thought with them have never dwelt, 






(Continued from Vol. IV, Page 279.) 

I now return to the curious catalogue of 
popular superstitions, — at which I think 
some few of us can afford to laugh heartily ;— 
albeit very many — if they knew we were 
laughing — would rate us for it soundly ! 

No. 28. The Toad. — The following is an 
excellent remedy to stop bleeding at the 
nose, mouth, &c. Take a toad and dry him 
up in the sun. Then put him into a linen 
bag, and hang him with a string about the 
neck of the party that bleedeth, — letting it 
hang so low that it may touch the heart on 
the left side (near to the heart). This will 
certainly stay all manner of bleeding at the 
mouth, nose, &c. Powdered toads, put in a 
bag and laid on the stomach, will relieve any 
pain in that important part of the body ! 

29. Tooth-ach. — In some parts of the 
country you .are sagely requested, when 
suffering from the torments of tooth-ach, to 
take a nail and tear the gums about the teeth 
till they bleed. Then drive the nail into a 
wooden beam up to the head. After this 
has been carefully done, the pain will cease, 
and you will never again be tormented with 
tooth-ach ! ! 

30. Cure for Thrush. — In Devonshire, 
they take a child to a running stream ; and 
drawing a straw through its mouth, they re- 
peat the words, — " Out of the mouths of 
babes and sucklings, &c." 

31. " Snail, Snail, come out of Your 
Hole, &c." — In every county we have vi- 
sited, there have we found children amusing 
themselves by chanting songs to snails, — 
trying to induce them thereby to put forth 
their horns. In Surrey and Scotland the 
chant is — 

" Snail, snail, come out of your hole, 
Or else I'll beat you as black as a coal." 

In Devonshire and in Somersetshire it is 
varied thus : — 

" Snail, snail, shoot out your horns, 
Father and mother are dead ; 
Brother and sister are in the back yard 
Begging for barley bread." 

In some parts of Ireland it runs thus : — 
" Shell a muddy, shell a muddy, 
Put out your horns ; 
For the King's daughter is 

Coming to town, 
With a red petticoat, and a green gown!" 

32. Beetles. — If you should kill a beetle, 
look out ; it is sure to rain ! It is as unlucky 
to kill a cricket. Both these little creatures 
will eat holes in the stockings of the family 
that kills them. 

33. Hooping-cough. — In addition to what 
has been already said on this subject (vide 
No. 1), may be added the following : — Tie a 

hairy caterpillar in a small bag round the 
neck of the child. As the caterpillar dies, 
so does the cough ! In former times, the 
remedy was that of riding the child on the 
back of a bear 1 And to this day, you are 
told to pass the child nine times over the 
back and under the belly of an ass ! ! 

34. Pigeons. — It is a sure sign of death if 
an invalid asks for a pigeon ! ! 

35. Pigs. — If fishermen meet a pig on 
their way to their boats, they will return 
again. The event is an omen that bodes ill 
to their fishing ! 

36. To Avert Sickness. — Hang up a 
sickle, or some iron implement, at the head 
of the sick person's bed ! 

37. Roasted Mice. — "We have lately 
heard, that when children had the measles 
their nurse gave them roasted mice to cure 
them ! 

38. A White Horse. — In some of the 
northern counties it is considered bad luck 
to meet a white horse, unless you spit at him. 
This act averts the ill consequences ! 

39. Still-born Children. — In Devon- 
shire it is thought lucky to have a still-born 
child put into an open grave ; as it is con- 
sidered a sure passport to Heaven for the 
next person who is buried there ! ! 

40. Children's Nails. — It is a general 
belief amongst the common people, and in 
fact in high circles, that if a child's finger- 
nails are cut before it is a year old, it will be 
a thief. They must be bitten off when they 
require shortening ! It is also believed, that 
if adults pare their nails on a Sunday, they 
will be unlucky during the week ! ! 

41. Turning the Bed after an Ac- 
couchement. — It is considered unlucky to 
have the bed turned till a full month has ex- 
pired ! ! It is also considered unlucky to 
turn the bed on Fridays. We are acquainted 
with an old dame, who would not have a bed 
turned on that day in her house for any 
money ! 

42. Ringworm. — In some parts of Scot- 
land it is said, that if a little ashes are taken 
between the forefinger and thumb, three suc- 
cessive mornings, — and the ashes allowed to 
drop on the part affected, it will disappear. 
Not, however, before repeating the following 
lines : — 

Ringworm, ringworm red ! 
Never mayst thou spread, spread ; 
But aye grow less and less, 
And die away among the ash ! 

43. If a person's left ear burn, or feel hot, 
somebody is praising the party ; if the right 
ear burn, this is a sure sign that some one is 
speaking evil of the person. This I believe 
to be common in most counties, and amongst 
nearly every grade of society. 

Taunton, /Somerset. 

(To be Continued.) 




BY F. J. GALL, M.D. 

(Continued from Page 40.J 

I have said, — and I repeat it, — that I con- 
sider it my duty to direct special attention to those 
extremely complicated cases, where we find great 
difficulty in determining the degree of moral liberty 
and responsibility of the individual. Such are the 
many cases of infanticide, into which I have so 
closely inquired.* Let us now speak of certain 
circumstances, hitherto little remarked, which con- 
tribute to affect our reason, and consequently to 
impair our freedom. 

Certain aliments, and especially spirituous 
liquors, produce on many persons peculiar 
irritations, which are the effect of a species of 
ehriety, though not accompanied with the ordi- 
nary symptoms of that state. We know that 
wine and brandy render a man courageous, 
quarrelsome, eloquent, sincere, amorous, sad, or 
gay. When the robber Peter Petri was sober, he 
seemed plunged in a state of dulness and 
apathy. They could then do what they would 
with him. But, after drinking a few glasses of 
brandy, he was a very tiger, who threw himself 
without distinction upon friends and enemies. 
A woman at Bamberg, whenever she had drank 
brandy, felt a strong desire to set tire to some 
house ; but no sooner had the excitement passed, 
than this woman was filled with horror at her own 
previous state. As, however, she was not always 
on her guard against the enticements of her fa- 
vorite beverage, 6he actually committed arson in 
fonrteen instances. 

The most embarrassing case in regard to culpa- 
bility, without reference to the laws, is that in 
which a peculiar quality acquires by itself, and in 
consequence of the organisation, so great a degree 
of energy that it forms the ruling passion of an 
individual. I have already shown, that all the 
faculties, and all the propensities, may arrive at this 
degree of energy. If this takes place in regard to 
a matter, which is indifferent or laudable, we may 
felicitate the individual, without making it a sub- 
ject of commendation. Many persons are natu- 
rally inclined to devotion ; others would be forced 
to do great violence to their nature, if they dis- 
missed without aid an abandoned child, or a 
friendless old man. Many men have an especial 
inclination for building, travelling, disputing; one 
is inflamed with an insatiable desire of glory ; 
another cannot spare his best friend when a bril- 
liant sarcasm rises in his mind. We found in a 
house of correction a young nobleman, extremely 
proud, who was confined there because he was 
ashamed of every kind of work. Even there, he 
would only condescend to speak to persons of dis- 
tinction, and his questions discovered uncommon 
penetration. The nervous systems of certain 
external senses may also acquire such an extra- 
ordinary degree of activity and energy, that they 
determine, as it were, the principal character of 

* These cases are extremely interesting to medi- 
cal men, and to ourself individually ; but we do not 
consider it needful nor prudent to discuss so pain- 
ful and delicate a subject in the columns of Our 
Journal. The reason will be obvious. — Ed. K. J. 

an individual. This kind of energy is even some- 
times hereditary. In a certain Russian family, the 
father and the grandfather early became victims of 
their propensity to drunkenness ; the son, though 
he foresaw the consequences of this perverse habit, 
continued to abandon himself to it, in spite of his 
exertions ; and the grandson, a boy of five years, 
at the time of the publication of the first edition 
of this work, already manifested a decided propen- 
sity for spirituous liquors. 

Why should not this imperious activity some- 
times take place, also, in other organs, which, by 
the excess of their action, lead to evil? The 
reality of such exaltation is proved by so many 
examples, that any objection dictated by prejudice 
or superstition, would be absurd. The individual 
who experiences this exalted energy, is governed 
by a single sensation or idea, in which his whole 
soul is centered. If this violent action is not con- 
trolled by some superior force, the man becomes 
its slave. If faculties of a superior order act at 
the same time in a contrary direction, there thence 
results an obstinate struggle between the unhappy 
propensities of the individual, and the painful 
opposition of his reason. Is it then surprising 
that evil propensities often gain the mastery over 
the good ; the flesh over the spirit? This state, 
it is true, is not a real alienation of the mind ; it 
is rather a partial exaltation, a subjection of the 
soul, and it offers an incomprehensible contrast 
between man and the animal in man. If the 
exaltation takes place in a quality, whose too 
energetic activity leads to criminal acts, a state 
can hardly be imagined more unhappy for the 
individual, and more perplexing to the judge ; 
for this state produces effects in appearance so 
contrary, that, on the one hand, it is scarcely 
possible to distinguish it from the state of reason ; 
and, on the other, it seems to confound itself with 
madness. Let us examine some of these incli- 
nations, beginning with the propensity to theft. 

Violent Propensity to the commission of Theft, 
destroying the Moral Freedom. 

Victor Amadeus I., King of Sardinia, was in 
the constant habit of stealing trifles. Saurin, pastor 
at Geneva, though possessing the strongest prin- 
ciples of reason and religion, frequently yielded to 
the propensity to steal. Another individual was, 
from early youth, a victim to this inclination. He 
entered the military service, on purpose that he " 
might be restrained by the severity of the disci- 
pline ; but, having continued his practices, he was 
on the point of being condemned to be hanged. 
Ever seeking to combat his ruling passion, he 
studied theology, and became a capuchin. But his 
propensity followed him even to the cloister. Here, 
however, as he found only trifles to tempt him, he 
indulged himself in his strange fancy with less 
scruple. He seized scissors, candlesticks, snuffers, 
cups, goblets, and conveyed them to his cell. An 
agent of the government at Vienna had the sin- 
gular mania for stealing nothing but kitchen uten- 
sils. He hired two rooms as a place of deposit; 

* " The flesh lusteth against the spirit, and 
the spirit against the flesh, and these two are 
contrary the one to the other, so ye cannot 
do the things that ye would." — St. Paul to Gal., 
chap, v., verse 17. 



he did not sell, and made no use of them. The 
wife of the famous physician Gaubius had such a 
propensity to rob, that when she made a purchase, 
she always sought to take something - . Countesses 
M., at Wesel, and P., at Frankfort, also had this 
propensity. Madame de W. had been educated 
with peculiar care. Her wit and talents secured 
her a distinguished place in society. But neither 
her education nor her fortune saved her from the 
most decided propensity to theft. Lavater speaks 
of a physician, who never left the room of his 
patients without robbing them of something, and 
who never thought of the matter afterward. In 
the evening his wife used to examine his pockets; 
she there found keys, scissors, thimbles, knives, 
spoons, buckles, and cases, and sent them to their 
respective owners. Moritz, in his experimental 
treatise on the soul, relates, with the greatest 
minuteness, the history of a robber who had the 
propensity to theft, in such a degree that, being 
in articulo mortis, at the point of death, he stole 
the snuff-box of his confessor. Doctor Bernard, phy- 
sician of his majesty the king of Bavaria, speaks of 
an Alsatian of his acquaintance, who was always 
committing thefts, though he had everything in 
abundance, and was not avaricious. He had been 
educated with care, and his vicious propensity 
had repeatedly exposed him to punishment. His 
father had him enlisted as a soldier, but even this 
measure failed to correct him. He committed 
some considerable thefts, and was condemned to 
be hanged. The son of a distinguished literary 
man offers us a similar example. He was distin- 
guished among all his comrades for his talents, 
but, from his early infancy, he robbed his parents, 
sister, domestics, comrades, and professors. He 
stole the most valuable books from his father's 
library. Every kind of means was tried to correct 
him ; he was sent into the service, and underwent 
several times the most rigorous punishments, but, 
all was useless. The conduct of this unhappy 
young man was regular in all other respects : he 
did not justify his thefts ; but if they addressed to 
him on this subject the most earnest and the most 
amicable representations, he remained indifferent; 
he seemed not to understand them. The almoner 
of a regiment of Prussian cuirassiers, a man 
otherwise well educated, and endowed with 
moral qualities, had so decided a propensity to 
theft, that frequently on the parade he robbed 
the officers of their handkerchiefs. His general 
esteemed him highly ; but as soon as he appeared 
they shut everything up with the greatest care, 
for he had often carried away handkerchiefs, 
shirts, and even stockings belonging to the women. 
When he was asked for what he had taken, he 
always returned it cheerfully. M. Kneisler, direc- 
tor of the prison at Prague, once spoke to us of the 
wife of a rich shopkeeper, who continually robbed 
her husband in the most ingenious manner. It 
was found necessary to confine her in gaol ; but 
she had no sooner escaped than she robbed again, 
and was shut up for the second time. Being set 
at liberty, new thefts caused her to be condemned 
to a third detention, longer than the preceding. 
She even robbed in the prison. She had contrived, 
with great skill, an opening in a stove which 
warmed the room where the money-box of the 
establishment was placed. 4 The repeated depreda- 
tions she committed on it were observed. They 

attached bells to the doors and windows to discover 
her, but in vain ; at length, by the discharge of 
pistols, which went off the moment she touched 
the box, she was so much terrified, that she had 
not time to escape by the stove. We have seen 
in a prison at Copenhagen an incorrigible thief, 
who sometimes distributed his gains to the poor. 
In another place, a thief, shut up for the seventh 
time, assured us with sorrow that it did not seem 
possible to him to act otherwise. He eagerly 
begged to be retained in prison, and to be furnished 
with the means of gaining his living. 

I might cite thousands of similar facts, which 
prove, at the same time, that the propensity to theft 
is not always the consequence of a bad education, 
of idleness, of poverty, of the want of certain good 
qualities, nor even the want of morality and reli- 
gion ; and this is so true, that every one shuts his 
eyes on trifling larcenies, when committed by rich 
people, who are otherwise of good character. These 
thefts are imputed to absence of mind. But may 
not the same propensity be found in the poor ? and 
does it then change its character ? Is its nature 
altered by the value of the thing stolen ? It fol- 
lows, from these cases, that it requires great pru- 
dence and experience to fix, with exactness, the 
degree of criminality. 

Let us now consider, under the same point of 
view, another mischievous propensity. 

Excessive propensity to hill, enfeebling Moral 

There is in man an inclination, which varies in 
degree, from simple indifference at seeing animals 
suffer, and from simple pleasure at witnessing the 
destruction of life, to the most imperious desire of 
killing. Our sensibility revolts at this doctrine, 
but it is nevertheless only too true. Wlioever 
would judge justly the phenomena of nature, must 
have the courage to acknowledge things as they 
are, and, in general, not to make man better than 
he is. 

We observe, that among children as among 
adults, among coarse people as well as those who 
have received education, some are sensitive and 
others indifferent to the sufferings of their fellows. 
Some even find pleasure in tormenting animals, 
in seeing them tortured, and in killing them, with- 
out our being able to charge it either to habit or 
to defect of education. I could cite several in- 
stances in which this inclination, when very ener- 
getic, has decided individuals in their choice of 
employment. A student used to shock his com- 
panions by the particular pleasure he took in tor- 
menting insects, birds, and other animals. It was 
to satisfy this propensity, as he himself said, that 
he made himself a surgeon. An apothecary's boy 
experienced such a violent propensity to kill, that 
he took up the trade of a hangman. The son of a 
shopkeeper, whose mind took the same turn, em- 
braced that of a butcher. A rich Dutchman used 
to pay the butchers, who made largo contracts for 
supplying vessels with beef, to let him kill the 

We may also judge of the existence of this pro- 
pensity and of its diversity, by the impression 
produced on spectators by the punishment to which 
criminals are subjected. Some cannot support tho 
spectacle ; others seek it as an amusement. The 
Chevalier Selwyn made particular exertions to be 



placed near the criminal who was undergoing 
punishment. They relate an anecdote of La Con- 
damine, that, one day, making efforts to penetrate 
the crowd assembled at the place of execution, and 
being repulsed by the soldiers, the executioner 
exclaimed, " Le the gentleman pass, he is an 
amateur." M. Bruggmanns, professor at Leyden, 
mentioned to us a Dutch clergyman, who had so 
decided a desire for killing, and for witnessing 
death, that he took the place of almoner of a regi- 
ment, solely to have an opportunity of seeing a 
great number of men destroyed. This same indi- 
vidual raised, at his house, the females of various 
domestic animals, and when they brought forth 
young, his favorite occupation was to cut their 
throats. He used to take charge of killing all the 
animals that were to be cooked. He corresponded 
with the executioners throughout the country, and 
would travel several miles on foot, to be present at 
executions ; so that the executioners always secured 
to him the distinction of a place near them. On 
the field of battle, we find striking examples of the 
different degree in which this disposition exists. 
One soldier, at the view of the blood which he 
causes to flow, feels the intoxication of carnage ; 
another, moved by pity, inflicts feeble blows, or at 
least spares the conquered; turns away at the 
sight of a child, of a woman, and of an old man, 
and checks himself after a victory. 

The man enslaved by the cruel propensity of 
which I here speak, still preserves the power of 
subduing, or of giving it a direction which is not 
injurious. But the power of subduing a vicious 
propensity is weakened in such an individual, in 
proportion as he has received less education, or 
the organs of the qualities of a superior order are 
less developed. If it happens that this propensity 
is carried to the highest degree, the man experi- 
ences but little opposition between his pernicious 
propensities and his external duties ; and though 
even in this case he is not deprived of moral 
liberty, or the faculty of being determined by 
motives, he still finds pleasure in homicide. I 
shall include in this case all the robbers, who, not 
content with plunder, have shown the sanguinary 
inclination to torment and kill without necessity. 
John Rosbeck was not satisfied, like his com- 
panions, with ill-treating his victims to make them 
confess the place where their treasures were con- 
cealed. He invented and exercised the most atro- 
cious cruelties, for the sole pleasure of seeing the 
sufferings and the blood of children, women, and 
old men. His first imprisonment continued nine- 
teen months ; he was shut up in a subterranean 
dungeon, so narrow that he could hardly breathe. 
His feet were loaded with chains ; he was up to 
the ankles in dirty water ; and when he was taken 
from this sink, it was to undergo cruel torture. 
Still he would confess nothing ; he was set at 
liberty, and the first use he made of his freedom, 
was to commit a robbery in open day. He soon 
committed new murders, and was finally put to 
death. At the beginning of the last century, 
several murders were committed in Holland, on 
the frontiers of the country of Cleves. The author 
of these crimes was a long time unknown. Finally, 
an old minstrel, who used to go to play the violin 
at all the weddings in the neighborhood, was sus- 
pected from some conversation among his children. 
Carried before the magistrate, he confessed thirty- 

four distinct murders, and asserted that he had 
committed them without malice, and without any 
intention to rob, solely because he found extraor- 
dinary pleasure in them. This fact was com- 
municated to us by M. Serrurier, magistrate at 

The well-known Sabatino, condemned at Paler- 
mo, for various crimes, at the moment he ascended 
the scaffold, confessed that he had killed a man 
with a musket-shot two years before. When asked 
what could have induced him to commit such an 
outrage, he coolly replied, that he had fired his 
musket on the man to satisfy himself that the 
powder was good ! 

Louis XV., says M. Lacratelle, had a well- 
founded aversion to the brother of the Duke de 
Bourbon Conde, the Count de Charolais, a prince 
who would have revived all the crimes of Nero, if, 
to the misfortune of mankind, he had been per- 
mitted to occupy a throne. Even in the sports of 
his childhood, he manifested an instinct of cruelty 
which might make one shudder. He amused him- 
self in torturing animals ; his violence to his ser- 
vants was absolutely ferocious. They pretend that 
he tried to mingle cruelty even with his debauch- 
eries, and that he practised divers barbarities on 
the very courtezans who were brought to him. The 
popular tradition, confirmed by several records, 
accuses him of several homicides. He committed 
murder, as is said, without interest, resentment, or 
anger. He used to fire at bricklayers, in order to 
enjoy the barbarous pleasure of seeing them fall 
from the tops of the houses on which they worked. 

These last facts, fortunately very rare, show us 
that this detestable propensity is sometimes alto- 
gether independent of education, of examples of 
seduction or habit, and that it has its source solely 
in a bad organisation. In fact, there are sometimes 
committed crimes so barbarous, with circumstances 
so revolting and disgusting, that it would be dif- 
ficult to explain them in any other manner. Pro- 
chaska relates that a woman of Milan used to lure 
children to her house by flatteries, kill them, salt 
their flesh, and devour them daily. He also cites 
the example of a man, who, in the indulgence of 
this atrocious propensity, killed a traveller and a 
young girl to devour them. I have already men- 
tioned the daughter of a cannibal, who, though 
educated at a distance from him, partook, from an 
early age, of this savage passion. 


Fond words do not ensure fond hearts, 

Nor glances bold prove love ; 
The tongue that deepest truth imparts, 

May often faltering prove. 
Love's ways, 'tis known, are different ways, 

In different tempers found ; 
But oh ! — give me the timid gaze, ^ 

That, bashful, seeks the ground'! 

Give me the steps that softly glide, 

Lest earth their place should tell ; — 
The feelings that 'neath blushes hide, 

As birds 'mid roses dwell; — 
The lips that tremble lest a word 

Their secret hopes betray ; — 
The whispers 'neath the moonlight heard, 

That shun the ruder day ! 



{Continued from Page 42.) 

I promised in my last, to give you the closing 
scene of this first adventure we had with the 
policeman. I shall have occasion, by-and-by, to 
return to this worthy; for we had more than one 
shindy with him, and he invariably got the worst 
of it. He was as invariably determined to do all 
in his power to annoy us, — being a most perse- 
vering enemy. 

Well; we left him and the Plnte proprietor 
discussing their 125 francs, and the mortification 
of their unexpected defeat. At the same time, 
they were consoling themselves with the certainty 
of being triumphant next time. Nay ; they had 
even gone so far as to make preparations for ce- 
lebrating their triumph, — forgetting the old adage, 
" Don't count your chickens before they are 

Effectually to secure their game, they beat 
about for recruits in every quarter ; and by means 
of plenty of wine, freely given, and plenty more 
as freely promised, their train was considerably 
augmented. They succeeded in seducing " David 
lc Dinde," and "La belle Nannetta," as wel) as 
his brother; son and nephew also, the opposite 

neighbors to K , two abominable fellows of the 

name of C . 

Of course, nightly meetings were held ; and the 
wine consumed was really fearful. It was not 
long, however, before the policeman and his friend 
were taught such a lesson, that I will venture to 
say they wished they had not so persevering!/ 
annoyed and insulted my old master. But he was 
left without any alternative. Either he must 
crush this nest of vipers, or he must be crushed 
himself; or, what was just as bad, he must submit 
to all their annoyances and insults. The day, 
however, which quieted them very considerably, 
at last arrived ; and full of wine and revenge, they 
occupied their former place before the judge. 
Bom by x, accompanied by his sons ; also, Jean and 
Francois, appeared on the side (opposite) as before. 
The usual routine having been gone through, 
Bombyx (as on the last occasion) was sworn, and 
then simply narrated the facts. 

He admitted, that in all probability, had it not 
been for Frere Jean, he should have taken the law 
into his own hands, and applied his cane pretty 

smartly about R 's shoulders. He added, that 

he did not think any other punishment could be so 
well understood by such a low-minded fellow. 

Jean was then called ; and previous to being 
sworn, was asked the usual question by the 
magistrate, — "Are you related to any of these 

Jean gave a queer look at them, and then, 
stroking his nose, replied, " Je nai pas cet hon- 

neur." (A burst of laughter. R biting his 

lips with rage). Jean took a capacious prise, and 
then very quietly told the whole story ; neither 
more nor less. 

Being asked by R if Bombyx had not his 

arm uplifted, with the intention of striking him 
with his stick — 

" Certainement oui" said Jean, " et apres vos 
grossierth envers lui, il aurait ire's bien fait de 

vous ecraser. Pourtant, fespere que mainte- 
nant nous allons vous faire chanter une jolie 
chanson. 1 ' 

" Cochon que tu es ! w cried R . 

Jean slowly advanced two steps towards him, 
when the magistrate interfered. 
" Jean, ayez la complaisance de vous tenir a votre 

place ; et vous, B, , si vous osez insidter encore 

une fois qui que ce soit dans ma presence, je vous 
mettrai a V amende de 20 francs." 

R quivered with rage. 

Magistrate to R . — " Now, sir, what have 

you to say to this charge ? " 

R . — " Ce que fai a dire c'est que ce sont 

tous des vilains menteurs." 

Before I go any further, I will just say that the 
charge against R was made as short as pos- 
sible ; and, following so quickly on the other, it 
would have appeared revengeful to have made it 
otherwise. It was for " wilfully and grossly in- 
sulting Bombyx on the public highway; endeavor- 
ing to obstruct his passage, &c, &c. ; and finally 
stigmatising him as a ' vieux gueux.' " 

Magistrate to R . — " Stop, sir. There are 

two parties you have again insulted. I must keep 
you within bounds. You are fined 40 francs." 

R . — " I am not allowed to say the truth, 


Magistrate. — " Go on, sir, with what you have 
to say." 

R . — " Well, then ; they begun on me. I 

was quietly in my Pinte, when Bombyx was 
passing by. He suddenly stopped, and made most 
disgusting grimaces at me. Jean and all his party 
did the same; and when I came out, as civilly as 
possible, they threatened to murder me, and Jean 
encouraged Bombyx to do so. I certainly should 
not have been alive now, if I had not run back to 
the Pinte. I have plenty of the most respectable 
neighbors, who happened just then to be in the 
Piute, and who are ready to prove this." 

Magistrate. — "Well, let us hear them. Call 
David B " (Le Dinde). 

In a minute, David arrived. A tall, thin sim- 
pleton was he in appearance, but in truth he was 
a cunning villain ; a revengeful rogue ; and he was 
very wroth against Bombyx, who once used to buy 
milk, butter, and vegetables of him; till finding the 
milk converted into chalk and water, the butter 
into lard, and the vegetables only the dirty refuse 
of what he had not been able to dispose of at 
market, — he was compelled to procure what he 
required elsewhere. This was, of course, a con- 
siderable source of real profit out of David's pocket 
— hence his unjust revenge. 

David appeared before the magistrate grinning 
like an idiot ; but excited and wound up to the 
highest pitch of phrensy ; and from the effects of 
the wine swallowed at the Pinte, his face was a 
bright purple color — his nose of a crimson hue. 

He shook hands with R , looked at the worthy 

magistrate as if he was anxious to confer a similar 
honor upon him, squeezed his casquette into 
the smallest possible compass, smiled at every one 
with inexpressible delight, and even gave a kind 
of triumphant, friendly, pitying " bon jour " to 
Jean, who acknowledged this salutation by a look 
of disdain and another prise. 

David was sworn ; and he declared he was in 
the " Pinte " when this took place. Jean looked 



furious, and requested the magistrate to repeat 
the question. 

Magistrate. — "You were in the Pinte of 

R , David, when this took place ? " 

David threw his casquette on the ground, 
jumped upon it like a madman, and swore he was 

The magistrate looked at Jean, who simply 
stroked his nose. 

Magistrate. — " Call Nannette. Nannette ap- 
peared, — a horrid-looking witch, of a dark olive 
color. She was hesmeared with hutter and mud. 
Her matted hair was sticking to her swarthy neck, 
and her dark eyes were darting looks of the most 
excited, angry feelings. 

Magistrate. — " Your name, Nannette — your 
family name ? " 

Nannette. — "Nannette Blanc." (A general burst 
of laughter, which caused Nannette to jump 
around, and to show herself quite determined to 
knock down every offender). But it was quite 
impossible to help laughing. Even the worthy 
magistrate could not but smile at this fair beauty. 
"Now, Nannette," quoth the worthy Magis- 
trate, " tell us, — are you at all related to any of 
these parties?" 

Nannette. — " Dianstrel Monsieur eait bel et 
bien que David est mon mari." 

Magistrate. — " Pardon, ma bonne femme, 
je n'en savais Hen ?" 

David (grinning). — " Oui, Monsieur le Juge, 
la Nannette c'est ma femme, mon epouse, ma." 

Magistrate. — " (Jest assez, David, je corn- 
er ends J 

David. — "Eh bien! si monsieur compr end, c'est 
tout ce quil me f out — c'est ma femme J 

Nannette, a David. — " Tais toi. Fou que tu 

Magistrate. — " Dites nous, Nannette, ce que 
vous savez de cette affaire ? Ou etiez vous ? " 

Nannette now broke out at express speed, 
" Je suis allS chercher mon mari qui buvait un 
verre a la Pinte, pendant que Lizette preparait 
le goute. J\j ai vu Monsieur Bombyx et cette 
grosse bete Jean, qui voulaient decapiter le pauvre 

R , il s'est sauve dans la Pinte, et moi je re- 

tournais avec David. C'eiait horrible de les voir, 
Monsieur le Juge, Je craignais quails allaient 
nous tuer tous roide morts. Je rC avais presque 
pas la force de retourner chez nous. J 'etais ter- 

R to David (patting him on the shoulder). 

— " C est par fait P 

David (grinning). — " Ne ta'i je pas bien dit ? " 
Jean smiled and stroked his nose. 

Nannette to Jean. — " Tupeux bien rire, grosni- 
gaud que tu es. Je viendrai te couper les axles. 

At this moment an officer arrived with a large 
sealed letter for Bombyx, who, after reading it, 
gave it to Jean, and then handed it to the magis- 
trate. The latter, after perusing it, desired Nan- 
nette to sit down. 

Magistrate to officer. — " Call Susanne C ," 

And in a few moments a most respectable young 
woman made her appearance and took up her 
quarters close to Jean. As soon as David caught 
sight of her, he turned to a deadly slate color. 
His lips quivered ; his chin nearly touched his shoes. 
He was not only speechless, but motionless. Nan- 
nette, too, suddenly dropped on the bench ; and 

in an instant became of a dirty stone color, as 
though she had seen a vision. All her previous 
animation had vanished. You might have moved 
her about like a bit of soft putty, to which she 
bore some resemblance. 

The policeman and R looked tremblingly 

at each other, but neither could say a word. Jean 
stroked his nose, and took an extra prise — at 
the same time offering his capacious box to Bom- 
byx. The magistrate looked at Bombyx, as 
though to ask for some explanation of the extra- 
ordinary scene before him. This, however, was 
soon explained by the examination of Susanne 
C . 

But I must here leave off, and remain, au revoir, 

Your affectionate old friend, 

Tottenham, Feb. 20. 



All hail 1 sweet muse, one of the tuneful nine 
Whose office 'tis to cheer the drooping heart, — 
To soothe its pain, alleviate its grief, 
To raise new thoughts, new feelings to create ; 
Thoughts pure and holy as e'en thou thyself. 
The charm is thine to lull the demon rage, 
To silence angry passion's maddening roar ; 
To dissipate e'en fear, which, but for thee, 
Would in the human breast triumphant reign. 
Wisdom and woman, wealth, wit, war, and wine, 
Have had their meed of praise — their honors 

With virtue, love and beauty, truth and grace. 
Not less in might and power art tTiou whose voice 
Resounds in deafening roars, or murmuring 
The dulcet sounds of gentle melody, 
"Varied and pleasing as the changing scenes 
Nature unfolds to those who love her best. 
Man, — mighty man — God's greatest, noblest 

Soars high above the world ; his soul entranced 
Yields to thy fascination. When the sweet 
Soft voice of harmony steals o'er his ear, 
In silent admiration rapt, he bends 
Attentively to catch the thrilling notes ; 
Listens, and follows, in its airy flight, 
The long, low cadence as it dies away 
Far o'er the hill, — fainter, yet fainter still,— 
Now lost for ever ! 

Nature claims from thee 
Those gentle attributes which first inspired 
Our hearts with love and admiration. 
Earth, air, fire, water — each and ail combine 
To render praise and to exalt thy fame. 
Thy voice resounds from Niagara's falls 
To the small stream that ripples through the v 
In words of pity, and in tones of love ; 
In gentle zephyrs, and in howling winds, — 
And countless myriads of the feathered race 
Warble a concert of sweet harmony. 
Thou dwellest in a holy, happy sphere, 
And by thine aid, Man, in angelic form, 
His maker will adore — his soul attune 
To sing God's praise, and to resound His love, — 
Hls power and grace through all Eternity ! 




How simple, yet how beautiful, these sense-en- 
trancing flowers, 

That first appear to welcome Spring, in lanes, 
and meads, and bowers ! 

In modesty enwrapt they rise, in loveliness they 

Enamored sunbeams leave the skies to dwell 
with them below. 

The East may boast its stately plants, effulgent in 

their pride ; 
The South of matchless gaiety extending far and 

wide ; 
But fairer, sweeter, lovelier flowers no clime hath 

ever grown, 
Than these much-cherished violets we proudly 

call our own. 

Like them the flowers of social life, who breathe 

its sweets around, 
Add grace to humble, cheerful paths, and in such 

paths are found. 
They make not Nature slave to Art, and thus a 

truth explain — 
That those who covet praise the least, the highest 

praise obtain. 


Now doth 
The natural year, a shadow of the sun, 
AVake from the earth a chequer'd tapestry, 
To greet his footsteps as he passes on. 
Stern Winter, lingering on the verge of Spring, 
Retires reluctant, and from time to time 
Looks back, while, at his keen and chilling breath, 
Fair Flora sickens. 

Who can utter the word — "March," 
without an anticipation of the fondest enjoy- 
ments in store for him during the rest of 
the year ? All these joys do not come at 
once. Oh — no ! They are, as the poet 
sweetly sings, 

" Unfolding every hour." 

Moreover, rightly to enter into them, one 
must seek for them diligently in their much- 
loved hiding places. An anxious eye, and a 
loving hearl , will need no prompting where 
to look. Sympathy will direct the steps. 

Truly modest is your u garden of nature," 
setting an example that we should like to 
see followed throughout the land. It is 
our observation of this, that causes us so 
often to be severe in our strictures upon 
womankind. Woman is poetically associ- 
ated with flowers, — yet, may we ask wherein 
she resembles them ? Certainly none of 
our women in towns and cities can claim 
any affinity to a flower-garden ; for in all 
things are they as wwnatural as it is possible 
for them to be. Oh that we could prevail 
upon the sex to be " lock-outs," and to enter 
into a " strike " against the monopolising 
spirit of that hydra,— " Fashion." Then 
would they, instead of being worshipped as 

now for their dress and " make-up," be 
valued for themselves alone, — having 

"That within which passeth show." 

But we feel we are wasting time ; and there- 
fore we at once address ourself to those who 
can afford to be laughed at for preferring 
nature to art. For such only do we write ; 
such only do we love. 

Well ; February has passed away. It has 
been a month of clouds and sunshine, warmth 
and cold, encouragement and disappoint- 
ment. We have had wind, rain, hail, snow, 
and heavy storms, — all which have done the 
bidding of their glorious Lord and Master. 
The earth is regenerated, compensation has 
been restored to the atmosphere, the farmers 
and gardeners have been busy ; and the 
balance is now every way in our favor. 

How our animal spirits have ebbed and 
flowed during the past month ! How we 
have suffered from the ailments peculiar to 
the season ! We have fallen and risen with 
the barometer ; and coughed loudly as Boreas 
when rejoicing in the exercise of his goodly 
lungs. This has not added to our strength, 
nor to the improvement of our personnel. 
Nevertheless, under all our sufferings (severe 
enough, truly !) we have been happy ; and 
whenever the dear sun has shone upon us, — as 
if from sympathy, we have been "jolly." 
What a look is that which he gives us, when 
he means that we should see him ! What a 
hope is that which he inspires, when his be- 
nevolent countenance proclaims him so truly 
honest of heart. Of all travelling com- 
panions, give us mighty Sol. In his sweet 
company, we have made many vows, and 
never broken them, — formed dreams of bliss 
that may yet be realised, and made " con- 
fessions " known to none other. 

It must not be supposed that our bodily 
ailments have diverted us from our regular 
course of action. Not a bit of it! Constant 
have we been in duty ; and as constant in 
pleasure. Many a nook and corner has seen 
us, — the sun alone the companion of our 
ramble, investigating the progress of birds 
and flowers. We do not preach without 
practising our own doctrines. We court 
fresh air and exercise daily, and thus do we 
keep our doors hermetically closed against 
the entrance of those pills and draughts 
which are so greedily swallowed by the fan- 
ciful — ad nauseam. We state this at the 
risk of being deemed a heathen. 

February has its good points. It is per- 
haps one of those months which are most 
fondly remembered by certain people, who 
on and after the 14th, " drink to their better 
acquaintance." It is marvellous to behold 
the universal activity that prevails on that 
day ; and we verily believe it has a goodly 
influence on society, by rousing them from 



their wintry torpor, and finding them some- 
thing to talk and joke about. At all events, 
everything appears to go at a brisker pace ; 
and long faces certainly do get u taken up " 
a little. The prospect is a promising one, 
which will naturally brighten as the spring 

But behold ! we have entered upon the 
month of March ; so let us greet the burly, 
honest fellow with the right hand of fellow- 
ship. Like many another good subject, he 
hides a kind heart under a rough outside. 
We must not question the motives of his 
every action. No doubt his reasons are 
valid ones. " It is an ill- wind that blows 
nobody any good." Let us watch them, 
instead of grumbling. Patience will soon 
have her perfect work. 

The days now are lengthening nicely. We 
rise by the light of day, and (should) return 
home by the light of day. No pretence is 
there now for huddling over fires, lying in 
bed to " take another turn," and other silly 
excuses. The vernal choristers are " up " 
early, and want us to have an audience with 
them. Let us not refuse such a summons. 
Their songs of praise suggest our morning 
hymn ; and the united harmony must be an 
acceptable sacrifice to the God of Heaven. 

During the month, we may look for many 
a fine morning. We love to sniff the early 
breeze in March, and to hail the rising of the 
god of day. How solemnly yet pleasingly 
serene is the picture, as it progresses towards 
the final touch ! What coloring ! What 
effect ! None but early risers ought ever to 
affirm that they love the country. Half the 
charms of a rural life consist in being present 
at the scenes commencing at break of day. 
Here indeed we have a living panorama, 
painted by Nature in her choicest colors, — 
beautiful because " natural." 

March usually comes in rudely, — giving 
us in every sense of the word a good blowing- 
up. No doubt we deserve it ! Yet is he 
playful withal ; and he loves his fair mis- 
tress — Spring. To use the sweetly expres- 
sive language of Thomas Miller, — Spring 
comes rushing in like a mad merry girl, 
romping and playing with the lambs, and 
running about with her hair blowing back to 
peep at the pale-eyed primroses, or hunt 
among the last year's leaves for the first tuft 
of early violets. 

She startles the lark too, as he goes danc- 
ing through the daisies ; and while he sends 
down a shower of song, watches him with 
upraised face, until he appears no larger than 
a bee, and is at last lost in the floating silver 
of the clouds. She mocks the bleating of 
the lambs ; and over the little hillocks, that 
will in Summer be covered with fragrant wild 
thyme, runs races with them — her joyous 
laughter ringing out all the louder when she 

falls, and crushes the silver-fringed daisies. 
She gathers the wild blue-bells, and twines 
them in her hair, and goes prying about the 
hedges for the sky-colored eggs of the hedge- 
sparrow. She knows where the throstle has 
built, and where the hard round nest of the 
blackbird lies concealed in the old orchard. 
She can lead you to where the blackthorn is 
in blossom, that looks like sheeted May, 
though the long hedgerows as yet only wear 
the faintest flush of green. She laughs at 
the cold March winds, and knows that the 
sun, which makes day and night equal, will 
soon disperse them ; and that his warm 
breath will in a few more weeks awaken all 
the sleeping flowers of Spring. 

What a pleasure it is, to know that the 
silver-rimmed daisies are now opening ; and 
that the sun-stained buttercups will ere long 
appear ; and as they look up to the sky, will 
flash back from earth the glow of sunny gold 
which they seem to draw from Heaven. That 
the pleasant hedgerows, those green old 
English boundary walls, will soon be pow- 
dered over with the milk-white blossoms of 
May, and make every breeze that blows 
smell as sweetly as if it had been out all day 
a-Maying, and was returning home oppressed 
beneath the heavy burthen of fragrance 
which it bears ! Then to look up to the 
silver-loaded clouds, and as they float leisurely 
along, to fancy that they also have been a 
May-gathering, somewherein the blue fields of 
Heaven ; for such fanciful thoughts will the 
approaching Spring awaken. 

Already have we received many choice 
love-tokens, in the witching form of early 
flowers, grouped in miniature bouquets, and 
transmitted to us through our faithful ally — 
the Postmaster-General. In what sweet 
amity do these little innocents nestle together 
whilst passively submitting to their rapid 
transit ; and with what a grateful, sweet odor, 
do they greet us as we once again let them 
recognise the light of Heaven ! And do they 
not inspire our muse, as we gaze on their 
nodding plumes, — fresher than ever, after 
they have had their bath ! Surely yes. We 
could sing of their charms for ever. Yet are 
words powerless to do them fitting honor ! 

There is something in the dawn of Spring 
that appears to renew our very system. It 
seems to hallow our thoughts, and to render 
them less burthensome. Cares sit lightly, 
because one day in seven (at least) brings us 
into contact with all our heart holds dear. 
Spring, as one says, "brings with it a spirit 
of tenderness." A burst of freshness and 
luxury of feeling takes possession of us. 
Aye, and let fifty springs have broken upon 
us, yet is this joy (unlike many joys of time) 
not an atom impaired. Are we not young ? 
Are we not boys and girls ? Do we not 
break, by the power of awakened thoughts, 



into all the rapturous scenes of all our happier 
years? There is something in the freshness 
of the soil, in the mossy bank, the balmy air, 
the voices of the birds, the early and delicious 
flowers, that we have seen and felt only in 
childhood, and Spring. 

As for the " coming " flowers, and the 
modest heads daily peeping out of sly 
corners, — these can only be hinted at. Our 
delight must be in searching for them. At 
our very feet are dog-tooth violets, yellow 
daffodils, polyanthuses, crocuses, snowdrops, 
lilac primroses, — and what beside? Then 
think of the fields of daisies, the gorgeous 
tulips, — in fact the infinite variety that 
awaits us, of every hue. Last, let us look at 
the Lily of the Valley — our pet. In this mo- 
dest little flower — one came enclosed to us 
recently, reclining on a bed of moss — we find 
all that is beautiful. It does not force itself 
into notice. It is reserved — pure, sweet, 
retired, delicate, graceful. It grows in the 
shade, and leaves all others to seek the sun. 
As we love the " Lily of the Valley," let our 
sweet poet — Hurdis, sing its praises. It shall 
have the last word, a proof of the estimation 
in which we hold it : — 

To the curious eye 
A little monitor presents her page 
Of choice instruction, with her snowy bells — 
The Lily of the Vale. She not affects 
The public walk, nor gaze of mid-day sun ; 
She to no state or dignity aspires ; 
But silent and alone puts on her suit 
And sheds her lasting perfume, — but for which 
We had not known there was a thing so sweet 
Hid in the gloomy shade. So when the blasts 
Her sister tribes confound, and to the earth 
Stoop their high heads, that vainly wereexpos'd, 
She feels it not, but flourishes anew, — 
Still shelter'd and secure. 

What more can we say to our readers ? 
We have pointed out wherein [our pleasure 
lies. Let us hope that what pleases us will 
please others equally. There is plenty yet 
to be done in the garden. This is a busy 
month, and all future success with our flowers 
depends upon the good use we now make of 
our time. Early and late, let us use the 
spade, the rake, the hoe, the fork. Away 
with every semblance of a weed; and let 
every arrangement be a perfect specimen of 
neatness. The severe weather of January has 
punished our choice plants sadly. These 
now require our fondest care. In fact, the 
garden claims us as its own. If we attend to 
it, our reward will be great. If we neglect 
it, we shall rue our folly. 

Next month, early, we shall be in the com- 
pany of nightingales, black-caps, and hosts 
of other spring visitors. The blackbird, too, 
will be in his finest voice, and the birds' 
" matins " will call us up betimes to join in 
the general rejoicings. We pant for this, 

knowing it to be the prelude of a season 
which for the lovers of nature possesses 
charms indescribable. 

Even now, when the glorious sun shines 
brightly, the whole face of nature rejoices. 
A fine day sets us all in the highest glee. 

There is a blessing in the air 

Which seems a sense of joy to yield 

To the bare trees, and mountains bare, 
And grass in the green field. 

Love, now a universal birth, 
From heart to heart is stealing ; 

From earth to man, from man to earth, 
It is the hour of feeling. 

feeling " 

Oh that these " hours of 
abounded more amongst us ! Then should 
our path in life be less chequered than it is 
and our social amity more perfect. 


There are some remarks connected 
with this subject in the New Edition of 
" Phillips' Guide to Geology," that we are 
anxious to register in the columns of " Our 
Own." The progress of Geology is fast 
setting aside the " old-wives' " favorite 
dogmas ; and the time has now come when 
"fact" must displace fiction :— 

It is obvious that for the right and full 
understanding of the phenomena which come 
before a geologist, he must often refer to the 
established results of other branches of 
physical science. Mineralogy must be his 
guide in ascertaining the ingredients of rocks. 
Chemistry must teach him their ultimate 
constitution. He must apply to botany and 
zoology for the examination of extinct plants 
and animals ; and to astronomy and general 
physics for correct general data within which 
to confine his inferences. 

How clearly does this show us the reason 
why the universally-occurring facts con- 
cerning the structure of the globe have only 
within a few years been submitted to any 
regular investigation, or reduced to general 
truths ! Generalisation in geology can only 
be based upon the established results of 
other more limited natural sciences. Every 
discovery of laws in chemistry and zoology 
widens the foundation of rational geology. 
And so long as men adhere to the method of 
philosophy taught by Bacon, geology can 
never again be lost in vain speculations, never 
again be an arena for discussing delusive 
hypotheses and unsubstantial conjecture. 

Geology, whether regarded as a history of 
the early physical revolutions of the earth, 
or as the science by which this history has 
been in some degree recovered, has really no 
other foundation than exact observation and 
careful induction. It would, therefore, be 



not a harsh sentence to refuse this title to 
the mass of mere opinions and conjectures, 
which, for some hundred years before the 
19th century, were pompously designated 
" Theories of the earth." With much better 
right may the title of geologists be conceded 
to Strabo and the old philosophers, who 
studied the local phenomena of their countries, 
and proposed limited hypotheses, in agree- 
ment with their notion of the laws of nature, 
than to Burnet and Buffon, whose systems 
of cosmogony have the air of a philosophical 
romance rather than of a serious generalisa- 
tion of facts. 

The history of the progress of opinions in 
geology may be useful as a warning to men 
advanced in geological inquiries, not to 
reason upon assumptions when "facts" 
remain to be explored ; and to repress that 
impatience of spirit, which ever seeks to 
anticipate observation by the efforts of 
invention. But the student should, if possible, 
be kept in impartial ignorance of these con- 
flicting hypotheses, which are too apt to 
fascinate the young and imaginative mind. 

It gives us pleasure to diffuse these senti- 
ments widely,as it is too much the fashion to 
take matters of science upon trust. Investi- 
gation can alone prove satisfactory. 


A merry sunbeam, warm and gay, 

Lighting in an April day, 

O'er a meadow chanced to stray; 

And a little foolish primrose thought 
That sunbeam had the summer brought. 

And in its dawning birth-day flush, 

It rose aside a holly bush, 

The orchestra of many a thrush: 

Its silver arms flung round in air, 
The merry sunbeam found it there. 

The wily day gleamed, smiled, and laugh'd, 
As to the floweret's health it quaff'd, 
And drain'd of dew full many a draught; 
Nor would that foolish flower believe 
Such smiles and beauty could deceive. 

But as the day began to wane, 

The primrose wish'd, but wish'd in vain, 

Its morning freshness back again ; 

Yet still the sunbeam brightly shone, 
And smil'd, and laugh'd, and flatter'd on. 

But as the air of evening came, 
And withering chill'd the floweret's frame, 
The sunbeam scarlet blush'd for shame, 
And proving all its words a boast, 
Withdrew its warmth when needed most. 

The little primrose, sore dismay'd, 
In winding-sheet of grass array 'd, 
Aside the holly dying, laid — 
Shivering, bereft, and bare, 
The merry sunbeam left it there ! 

J. B. 


At this sweet season, few lovers of 
nature need prompting to go abroad and 
seek for the early flower. Let us hear what 
Miss Mitford says about it ; for we would 
fain, now, give place to other voices than our 
own, and so be "ever changing ever new." 
In her note-book, she thus writes : — March 
27th — It is a dull grey morning, with a dewy 
feeling in the air ; fresh, but not windy ; cool, 
but not cold ; the very day for a person 
newly arrived from the heat, the glare, the 
noise, and the fever of London, to' plunge 
into the remotest labyrinths of the country, 
and regain the repose of mind, the calmness 
of heart, which has been lost in that great 
battle. I must go violeting — it is a necessity 
— and I must go alone. . . . 

The common that I am now passing — the 
Lea, as it is called — is one of the loveliest 
spots near my house. It is a little sheltered 
scene, retiring, as it were, from the village ; 
sunk amidst higher lands — hills would be 
almost too grand a word — edged on one side 
by our gay high-road, and intersected by 
another ; and surrounded by a most pictu- 
resque confusion of meadows, cottages, farms, 
and orchards ; and with a great pond in one 
corner, unusually bright and clear, giving a 
delightful cheerfulness and day-light to the 
picture. The swallows haunt that pond; so 
do the children. There is a merry group 
round it now ; I have seldom seen it without 
one. Children love water, clear, bright, 
sparkling water ; it excites and feeds their 
curiosity ; it is motion and life. . . . 

A turn in the lane, and we come to 
the old house standing amongst the high 
elms, — the old farm-house, which always, I 
don't know why, carries back my imagination 
to Shakespeare's days. It is a long, low, 
irregular building, with one room at an angle 
from the house, covered with ivy, fine, white- 
veined ivy ; the first floor of the main build- 
ing projecting, and supported by oaken 
beams, and one of the windows below with 
its old casement and long narrow frames, 
forming the half of a shallow hexagon. A 
porch, with seats in it', surrounded by a pin- 
nacle, pointed roofs and clustered chimneys, 
complete the picture. The very walls are 
crumbling to decay under a careless land- 
lord and a ruined tenant. 

Now a few yards farther and I reach the 
bank. Ah ! I smell them already ; most 
exquisite perfume steams and lingers in this 
moist heavy air. Through this little gate, 
and along the green south bank of this green 
wheat-field, and they, burst upon me, — the 
lovely violets ! in tenfold loveliness. The 
ground is covered with them, white and 
purple, enamelling the short dewy grass, 
looking but the more vividly colored under 



the dull, leaden sky. There they lie by- 
hundreds, by thousands. In former years I 
have been used to watch them from the tiny 
green bud, till one or two stole into bloom. 
They never came on me before in such a 
sudden and luxuriant glory of simple beauty, 
— and I do really owe one pure and genuine 
pleasure to feverish London. How beauti- 
fully they are placed too, on this sloping 
bank — with the palm branches waving above 
them, full of early bees, and mixing their 
honeyed scent with the more delicate violet 
odor. How transparent and smooth and 
lusty are the bunches, full of sap and life. 
And there, just by the old mossy root, is a 
superb tuft of primroses, with a yellow 
butterfly hovering over them, like a flower 
floating on the air. What happiness to sit 
in this tufty knoll and fill my basket with 
the blossoms ! What a renewal of heart and 
mind ! To inhabit such a scene of peace and 
sweetness, is again to be fearless, gay, and 
gentle as a child. Then it is, that thought 
becomes poetry ; and feeling, religion. Then 
it is that we are happy, and good. 

Oh that my whole life could pass so float- 
ing in blissful and innocent sensation, 
enjoying in peace and gratitude the common 
blessings of nature — thankful above all for 
the simple habits, the healthful temperament, 
which render them so dear. Alas ! who may 
dare expect a life of such happiness ? But I 
can at least snatch and prolong the fleeting 
pleasure — can fill my basket with pure 
flowers, and my heart with pure thoughts — 
can gladden my little home with their sweet- 
ness — can divide my treasures with one, a 
dear one, who cannot seek them — can see 
them when I shut my eyes, and dream of 
them when I fall asleep. 

We love to hear Miss Mitford speak so 
of the " heat, glare, noise, and fever of 
London," describing them as the elements 
of " a great battle." We feel the truth of 
every word she utters ; and can share all 
the delights she so vividly pictures in this, 
her morning ramble. Again we repeat, — 
" God made the Country I 1 ' 





The following remarks by Rousseau, 
on this beautiful little herald of Spring, will 
be read with interest. 

Take one of those little flowers which 
cover all the pastures, and which everybody 
knows by the name of daisy. Look at it 
well; for I am sure you would not have 
guessed by its appearance that this flower, 
which is so small and delicate, is really 
composed of between two and three hundred 
flowers, all of them perfect ; that is, having 
each its corolla, stamens, pistil, and fruit. 

Every one of those leaves which are white 
above and red underneath, and form a kind 
of crown round the flower, appearing to be 
nothing more than little petals, are in reality 
so many true flowers ; and every one of those 
tiny yellow things also, which you see in the 
centre, and which at first you have, perhaps, 
taken for nothing but stamens, are real 

If you were accustomed to botanical dis- 
sections, and were armed with a good glass 
and plenty of patience, it would be easy to 
convince you of this. But you may at least 
pull out one of the white leaves from the 
flower ; you will at first think that it is flat 
from one end to the other ; but look care- 
fully at the end by which it was fastened to 
the flowers, and you will see that this end is 
not flat, but round and hollow, in form of a 
tube, and that a little thread, ending in two 
horns, issues from the tube ; this thread is 
the forked style of the flower, which, as you 
now see, is flat only at the top. 

Next look at those yellow things in the 
middle of the flower, and which as I have 
told you are all so many flowers ; if the 
flower be sufficiently advanced, you will 
see several of them open in the middle, and 
even cut into several parts. These are 
monopetalous corollas, which expand ; and 
a glass will easily discover in them the pistil, 
and even the anthers with which it is sur- 
rounded. Commonly the yellow florets 
towards the centre are still rounded and 
closed. These, however, are flowers like the 
others, but not yet open ; for they expand 
successively from the edge inwards. This is 
enough to show you by the eye, the pos- 
sibility that all these small affairs, both white 
and yellow, may be so many distinct flowers ; 
and this is a constant fact. You perceive, 
nevertheless, that all these little flowers are 
pressed, and enclosed in a calyx which is 
common to them all, and which is that of the 
daisy. In considering then the whole daisy 
as one flower, we give it a very significant 
name when we call it a composite-flower ." 

But we have not yet done with the daisy. 
Henry Sutton, a young poet, has sung its 
praises so very sweetly, that we gladly open 
our columns to let his song be heard through- 
out the land . — 


A gold and silver cup 

Upon a pillar green, 
Earth holds her Daisy up 

To catch the sunshine in : — 
A dial chaste, set there 

To show each radiant hour: — 
A field-astronomer ; 

A sun-observing flower. 

The children with delight 
To meet the Daisy run ; 



They love to see how bright 

She shines upon the sun : 
Like lowly white-crowned queen, 

Demurely doth she bend, 
And stands, with quiet mien, 

The little children's friend. 

Out in the field she's seen, 

A simple rustic maid, 
In comely gown of green 

And clean white frill arrayed ; 
There stands, like one in mood 

Of hope by fancy spun, 
Awaiting to be woo'd, 

Awaiting to be won. 

The dandy Butterfly, 

All exquisitely drest, 
Before the Daisy's eye 

Displays his velvet vest : 
In vain is he arrayed 

In all that gaudy show ; 
What business hath a maid 

With such a foppish beau ? 

The vagrant Bee but sings 

For what he gets thereby; 
Nor comes, except he brings 

His pocket on his thigh ; 
Then let him start aside 

And woo some wealthier flower ; 
The Daisy's not his bride, 

She hath no honey-dower. 

The Gnat, old back-bent fellow, 

In frugal frieze coat drest, 
Seeks on her carpet yellow 

His tottering limbs to rest : 
He woos her with eyes dim, 

Voice thin, and aspect sage ; 
What careth she for him ? 

What part hath youth with age ? 

She lifteth up her cup, 

She gazeth on the sky ; 
Content, so looking up, 

Whether to live or die. 
Content, in wind and cold 

To stand, in shine and shower ; 
A white-rayed marigold, 

A golden-bosomed flower. 

It is a pleasant croft 

Where " winged kine"' may graze ; 
A golden meadow soft, 

Quadrille-ground for young fays ; 
A little yellow plot, 

With clean white pales fenced round, 
Each tipt with vermeil spot, 

Each set on greenest ground. 



" Br very circumspect," says good old Quarles, 
"in the choice of thy company. In the society of 
thine equals, thou shalt enjoy more of pleasure ; 
in the society of thy superiors, thou shalt find more 
profit. The best means to grow better, is, to feel 
yourself the worst of the company. Always listen ; 
but talk seldom." 

The English residing or travelling upon 
the continent would, if gathered together, 
make a large city. They carry England 
with them wherever they go. In Rome there 
is an English church, an English reading- 
room, an English druggist, an English grocer, 
and an English tailor. As England is an 
island, so they everywhere form an insular 
community, upon which the waves of foreign 
influence beat in vain. This peculiarity 
penetrates to the individual. A French or 
German table-d'hote is a social continent; 
but an English coffee-room, at the hour of 
dinner, is an archipelago of islets, with deep 
straits of reserve and exclusiveness flowing 

Travellers of other nations learn to conform 
to the manners and customs of the people 
about them ; avoiding the observation at- 
tracted by singularity. Not so the English- 
man. He boldly faces the most bristling 
battery of comment and notice. His shooting 
jacket, checked trousers, and brown gaiters, 
proclaim his nationality before he begins to 
speak ; he rarely yields to the seduction of a 
moustache ; he is inflexibly loyal to tea ; and 
will make a hard fight before consenting to 
dine at an earlier hour than five. The 
English in Rome, as a general rule, show 
little sensibility to the peculiar influences of 
the place. Towards the Catholic Church 
and its ceremonies they turn a countenance 
of irreverent curiosity ; trying the spirit of 
the Italians by their careless deportment, 
their haughty strides, and their inveterate 
staring — intimating that the forms of Catholic 
worship are merely dramatic entertainments 
performed by daylight. 

Nor are they much moved by beauty, in 
nature or art. An Englishman, in his heart 
of hearts, regards emotion or enthusiasm as 
feminine weaknessess, unworthy of manhood. 
A fine dog or horse calls forth from him 
more energetic admiration than the most 
beautiful landscape or picture. He marches 
through a gallery with resolute strides — his 
countenance expanding as the end draws 
near. Five minutes despatch a Raphael; 
four, a Titian or Coreggio ; and two or three 
are enough for less illustrious names. 

It need hardly be said that the English 
in Rome are not popular, either with the 
Italians — in spite of the money they spend — 
or with their fellow sojourners in other lands. 
They form the subject of innumerable cari- 
catures ; and hardly a book of travels appears 
in any language but their own which is not 
seasoned with stories — good, if not true — of 
English phlegm, English rudeness, or English 
eccentricity. But this unpopularity is not 
more marked than the lofty disdain with 
which it is accepted by the parties who are 


the subjects of it. Coriolanus himself did 
not confront ill-will with a haughtier brow. 
Indeed, as a general rule, an Englishman is 
never so repulsive as when it is his cue to 
conciliate opposition, and disarm unreasonable 
prejudice. — G. H. 


The following little sketch will, we are sure, 
please our readers. It is a good story ; all 
the better for the way in which it is told. Sir 
Francis Head is the narrator. 

Henry Patterson and his wife Elizabeth 
sailed from the Tower in the year 1834. as 
emigrants on board a vessel heavily laden with 
passengers, and bound to Quebec. Patterson 
was an intimate friend of a noted bird-catcher 
in London, called Charley Nash. Now,|Nash 
had determined to make his friend a present 
of a good skylark, to take to Canada with him ; 
but not having what he called " a real good 
un" among his collection, he went into the 
country on purpose to trap one. In this 
effort he succeeded ; but when he returned to 
London,he found that his friend Patterson had 
embarked ; and that the vessel had sailed a few 
hours before he reached the Tower-stairs. He 
therefore jumped on board a steamer that was 
about to start, and overtook the ship just as 
she reached Gravesen d ; where he hired a small 
boat, and then sculling alongside, he was soon 
recognised by Patterson and his wife, who 
with a crowd of other male and female emi- 
grants of all ages were taking a last farewell 
of the various objects which the vessel was 
slowly passing. 

" Here's a bird for you, Harry," said Nash 
to Patterson, as, standing up in the skiff, he 
took the frightened captive out of his hat; 
" and if it sings as well in a cage as it did just 
now in the air, it will be the best you have 
ever heard." 

Patterson, descending a few steps from 
the gangway, stretched out his hand and re- 
ceived the bird, which he immediately called 
Charley, in remembrance of his faithful friend 

In the Gulf of St. Lawrence the vessel was 
wrecked ; almost everything was lost except 
the lives of the crew and passengers ; and ac- 
cordingly, when Patterson, with his wife 
hanging heavily on his arm, landed in Canada, 
he was destitute of everything he had owned 
on board, excepting Charley, whom he had 
preserved, and afterwards kept for three 
days in the foot of an old stocking. 

After some few sorrows, and after some 
little time, Patterson settled himself at To- 
ronto, in the lower part of a small house in 
King Street, the principal thoroughfare of 
the town, where he worked as a shoemaker. 
His shop had a southern aspect ; he drove a 

nail into the outside of his window ; and 
regularly every morning just before he sat 
upon his stool to commence his daily work, he 
carefully hung upon this nail a common sky- 
lark's cage (which had a solid back of dark 
wood, with a bow or small wire orchestra in 
front) upon the bottom of which there was to 
be seen,whenever it could be procured, a fresh 
sod of green turf. 

As Charley's wings were of no use to him 
in this prison, the only wholesome exercise he 
could take was by hopping on and off his little 
stage. This sometimes he would continue to 
do most cheerfully for hours, stopping only 
occasionally to dip his bill into a small,square, 
tin box of water, suspended on one side, and 
then to raise it for a second or two towards 
the sky. As soon, however, as (and only 
when) his spirit moved him, this feathered 
captive again hopped upon his stage ; and 
there, standing on a bit of British soil, with 
his little neck extended, his small head 
slightly turned, his drooping wings gently 
fluttering, his bright black eyes intently fixed 
upon the distant, deep, dark blue Canada sky, 
he commenced his unpremeditated morning 
song, his extempore matin prayer. 

The effect of his thrilling notes, of his shrill 
joyous song, of his pure unadulterated English 
voice, upon the people of Canada, cannot be 
described ; and probably can only be imagined 
by those who either by adversity have been 
prematurely weaned from their mother 
country, or who, from long- continued absence 
from it, and from hope deferred, have learned 
in a foreign land to appreciate the inesti- 
mable blessings of their fatherland, of their 
parent home. All sorts of men — riding, 
driving, walking, propelled by urgent businesg, 
or sauntering for appetite or amusement — as 
if by word of command, stopped, spell-bound, 
to listen, for more or less time, to the inspired 
warbling, to the joyful hallelujahs, of a 
common, homely-dressed, English lark ! The 
loyal listened to him with the veneration 
with which they would have listened to the 
voice of their sovereign ; reformers, as they 
leaned towards him, heard nothing in his en- 
chanting melody which even they could desire 
to improve. I believe that in the hearts of 
the most obdurate radicals, he reanimated 
feelings of youthful attachment to their 
mother-country ; and that even the trading 
Yankee (in whose country birds of the most 
gorgeous plumage snuffle rather than sing) 
must have acknowledged that the Heaven- 
born talent of this little bird unaccountably 
warmed the Anglo-Saxon blood that flowed 
in his veins. Nevertheless, whatever others 
may have felt, I must own, that although I 
always refrained from joining Charley's 
motley audience, yet, while he was singing, 
I never rode by him without acknowledging, 
as he stood with his outstretched neck looking 



to Heaven, that he was (at all events, for his 
size) the most powerful advocate for social 
union; and that his eloquence was as strongly 
appreciated by others, Patterson received 
many convincing proofs. 

Three times, as he sat beneath the cage, 
proud as Lucifer, yet hammering away at a 
shoe- sole lying in purgatory on his lapstone, 
and then, with a waxed thread in each hand, 
suddenly extending his elbows, like a scara- 
mouch, — three times was he interrupted in 
his work by people who each separately 
offered him one hundred dollars for his lark. 
An old farmer repeatedly offered him a 
hundred acres of land for him ; and a poor 
Sussex carter, who had imprudently stopped 
to hear him sing, was so completely over- 
whelmed Avith affection and maladie du pays, 
that, walking into the shop, he offered for 
him all he possessed in the world — his horse 
and cart. But Patterson would sell him to 
no one. 

On the evening of the — th of October, 
1837, the shutters of Patterson's shop 
windows were half closed, on account of his 
having that morning been accidentally shot 
dead on the island opposite the city. The 
widow's prospects were thus suddenly ruined, 
her hopes blasted, her goods sold ; and I need 
hardly say that I made myself the owner, 
the lord and the master, of poor Patterson's 

It was my earnest desire, if possible, to 
better his condition, and I certainly felt very 
proud to possess him ; but somehow or other 
this " Charley is my darling" sort of feeling 
evidently was not reciprocal. Whether it was, 
that in the conservatory of the Government 
House at Toronto, Charley missed the sky — 
whether it was that he disliked the move- 
ment, or rather want of movement, in my 
elbows — or whether, from some mysterious 
feeling, some strange fancy or misgiving, the 
chamber of his little mind was hung with 
black — I can only say that, during the three 
months he remained in my service, T. could 
never induce him to open his mouth, and that 
up to the last hour of my departure he would 
never sing to me. 

On leaving Canada, I gave him to Daniel 
Orris, an honest, faithful, loyal friend, who 
had accompanied me to the province. His 
station in life was about equal to that of 
poor Patterson , and accordingly, so soon as 
the bird was hung by him on the outside of 
his humble dwelling, he began to sing again 
as exquisitely as ever. He continued to do 
so all through Sir George Arthur's adminis- 
tration. He sang all the time Lord Durham 
was at work ; he sang after the Legislative 
Council, the Executive Council, the House ot 
Assembly of the province, had ceased for 
ever to exist ; he sang all the while the Impe- 
rial Parliament were framing and agreeing to 

an Act by which even the name of Upper 
Canada was to cease to exist ; and then, 
feeling that the voice of an English lark 
could no longer be of any service to that 
noble portion of Her Majesty's dominions — 
he died ! 

Orris sent me his skin, his skull, and his 
legs. I took them to the very best artist in 
Londcn — the gentleman who stuffs for the 
British Museum — who told me, to my great 
joy, that these remains were perfectly un- 
injured. After listening with great pro- 
fessional interest to the case, he promised 
me that he would exert his utmost talent ; 
and in about a month Charley returned to 
me with unruffled plumage, standing again 
on the little orchestra of his cage, with his 
mouth open, looking upwards — : in short, in 
the attitude of singing, just as I have de- 
scribed him. 

I have had the whole covered with a large 
glass case, and upon the dark wooden back of 
the cage there is pasted a piece of white paper, 
upon which 1 have written the following 
words : — ■ 

This Lark, 
taken to Canada by a poor Emigrant, 


and after singing at toronto for nine years, 

died there on the 14th of march, 1843, 

universally regretted. 

Home ! Home ! Sweet Home ! 




You think I have a merry heart 

Because my songs are gay; 
But oh ! they all were taught to me 

By friends now far away. 
The bird will breathe his silver note 

Though bondage binds his wing,— 
But is his song a happy one ? — 

I'm saddest when J sing ! 

I heard them first in that dear home 

I never more shall see ; 
And now each song of joy has got 

A mournful turn for me. 
Alas, 'tis vain in winter time 

To mock the songs of Spring, 
Each note recalls some wither'd leaf,- 

I'm saddest when I sing ! 

Of all the friends I used to love, 

My harp remains alone ; 
Its faithful voice still seems to be 

An echo of my own. 
My tears when I bend over it 

Will fall upon its string; — 
Yet those who hear me little think 

I'm saddest when I sing ! 

T. H. Bayly. 




Man is a child of sorrow ; and this world 

In which we breathe has cares enough to plague us. 


What can suggest more 
painful feelings, than the 
cold, mechanical prepara- 
tions for selling oft 1 — perhaps all that a man 

possesses ! 

I never like to see a house tricked out in 
auction fineries : the lazy stair-carpets lolling; 
from the upper windows ; and the lower ones 
patched like a vulnerated face, — all convey 
an idea of disgrace and dishonor. Within 
the house, dislike deepens into melancholy. 
Wno can bear to see the penetralia of any 
place, that has once been the abode of human 
beings, thrown open to the brazen stare and 
the rude rush of strangers, who flock in, on 
all sides, with craving eyes and gaping 
mouths — like harpies snuffing about for food 
and plunder? Often have I panted for the 
ability of seeing some superannuated poker 
*in my way, and clearing the mansion of its 
intruders ! 

When an auction occurs, people imagine 
that a house has lost all title to respect. 
This is a barbarous feeling, unworthy of 
being fostered in any bosom that beats in the 
nineteenth century. AVhat ! shall we wander 
with pauseful reverence among the ruins of 
antiquity, and yet burst into an unoccupied 
house, with grins that might grace a troop 
of hungry bears ? The respect clue to the 
very stones piled up into walls, might dictate 
more dutiful conduct. But there is some- 
thing that ought to be still more influential 
in restraining " rude advances," — the recollec- 
tion that it has been inhabited. Every man 
who has a home is capable of estimating the 
delights arising from its retirement and pri- 
vacy ; and he ought to carry a homely feeling 
with him when he attends any dwelling that 
is exposed to the calamities of an auction- 
day ; let him remember, that though ail is 
now blank and cheerless, the sounds of family 
voices, the sweet buzzes of home, once mur- 
mured through the deserted chambers ! 

And who shall describe the hurly-burly at 
the hall-door of a house under the endurance 
of an auction ? 

Tnsequitur clamor que virum, stridor que 
' rudentium ! 

This is the hour for unimportant Importance 
to swagger, and look on with an aristocratical 
stare of indifference. This is the moment 
for littleness to be greatness*, and men of 

_____ . . _ 

money to stir about their pockets, and dig 
the pavement with their steel-tipped boots. 
See yonder punchy little fellow ; with what an 
air he taps his foot on the stones, whistles out 
his consequence, and surveys the house from 
top to bottom ! There, approaches a round- 
faced personage, who swells herself along 
with fat disdain, and waddles into the hall 
as if the house itself would recede from her 
advance. But the most presuming is yonder 
white-cheeked man, dressed in black, and 
strutting up aud down the hall, and into the 
parlors, with a hissing impudence on his lip, 
and an echo accompanying his feet. How 
architecturally he measures the lofty walls 
with his glance, opens the cupboards, and 
wades, with his body on a dubious balance, 
from room to room ! He would fain persuade 
those around him, that he is something great 
— that fa's. house is far beyond this in size and 
magnificence, and therefore all that he sees 
is unworthy any look of surprise. And is 
he truly a man of consequence ? No ! 

Behind, in the small square garden, graver, 
but not less snarling people, are traversing 
round the winding gravel walks, curling their 
noses at the bare remnants of fruit-trees and 
flower-beds, and kicking the straggling rows 
of box with most impertinent hauteur ; and 
here it is that the family affairs of the owner 
of the house undergo a severe inquisition. 
This piece of business is generally transacted 
by two elderly men, who, with their hands 
crossed behind them, circle round the garden 
regardless of anybody else, and in loud, but 
critical tones, explode their sentiments and 

If the "old gentleman 1 ' who belonged to 
the mansion lias departed this life, his 
stinginess, his cruel treatment of his first 
wife, and the dreadful habit he had of cursing, 
are duly exposed and censured. It is, more- 
over, hinted by one of these inquisitors, that 
the " old gentleman" has left a few awkward 
impressions of himself in divers parts of the 
country ! If it be in consequence of the 
proprietor's extravagant style of living, that 
his dwelling is u to be sold by auction," his 
crimes are visited with showers of anathemas 
and sarcasms. What business had he with 
three men-servants, and six different wines 
on his table every day ? Why did his " fine 
wife" flaunt about the town, like a peacock, 
on a Sunday morning, in her ostrich feathers 
and superb satin pelisses ? And the daughters 
too, — how they tossed their heads as they 
sailed by their neighbors' doors ! What 
necessity was there for their continual 
presence at the theatres, the concerts, and 
the races? Mr. Cheatall had much better 
have paid his creditors. Thcylvixe no patience 
to see such ridiculous pretension at the 
expense of honesty and principle, — they saw 
" how matters would end," long ago — it has 



" fallen out" just as they prophesied it would, 
— they have " no pity" for such people. 

The most important and the most truly 
comfortable part of a well-managed house, is 
the kitchen. Though the parlors and draw- 
ing-room are more poetical places, the 
" kitchen " is unrivalled for its hospitable 
appearance and domestic splendor ; it is a 
place where the finest amongst us are not 
ashamed to be seen sometimes; and from 
whose savory area proceed those dishes and 
soups, which throw life and fatness into the 
aristocratical chambers. And let me ask any 
reader who has had the happiness to spend 
some of his juvenilian days at an " academy 
for young gentlemen" — if he has not con- 
sidered himself to be in the third Heaven, 
when he has been able to steal into the 
kitchen on a gusty winter's day, have a little 
polite converse with the cook, collect hints 
respecting the dinner, and entice her into 
some treasonable act in the manufacture of 
the silky " sky-blue ?" 

With this regard for the kitchen, what a 
damp comes upon the heart when we enter 
into a " kitchen," on an auction day ! Where 
are all the culinary murmurs that used to 
greet the ear in such a complex jingle of 
copper, tin, and china ? Where is the tall 
moon-faced clock that used to click with 
such solemn assurance, and unalterable 
gravity, amid the hubbub of " Marys," 
"Johns," and "Marthas?" Where is the 
smoky jack, that helped to embrown the 
dripping rotundity of many a well-savored 
joint? And where ! oh where ! is the barrel- 
figured coachman, with a visage like a scraped 
. carrot ; and the cook, with her fiery com- 
plexion and fire-swimming eyes ; and the 
giggling, manoeuvring, door-haunting house- 
maid ; and the pale, inch-waisted ladies'-maid, 
that used to trip into the kitchen, with my 
mistress's " drawers" to be aired? Where 
are they all ? ask, 

And echo answers, where ! — 
What matin counsels, what noontide 
smacking of lips, and what evening rounds 
of mirth, that made all the platters to go a 
" nid, nid, noddin," were heard in this place 
a month since ! What a homely flicker the 
piled fire used to fling athwart the gleaming 
covers of saucepans in array, and rose-figured 
plates, that stood on the dresser-shelves as if 
they were meditating a start on the floor ! 
Pleasant was the humming bubble of the 
boiling water, the hiss of the roasting viands, 
the industrious patter of feet, the purr of the 
cat banqueting in lazy raptures before the 
fire-place, and the occasional plashy tread of 
a Newfoundland dog stalking through the 
kitchen with homely contentedness. 

But the most joyous scene of all that 
occurred in the kitchen was at Christmas, 
when the master and mistress winked at 

seasonable improprieties " below ; " and, if 
they had any English material in their hearts, 
never scrupled to permit their servants' 
" friends and relatives from the country" to 
enjoy themselves in a liberal style. It is 
really quite charming to see how thankfully 
the red-cloaked dame is conducted to the 
kitchen by her town-refined daughter, there to 
taste some of the cook's " nice things." How 
bouncingly the young maid skips about 
before the old lady, as if to show her fami- 
liarity with all around her, and her perfect 
zmastonishment at the grand assortment of 
plate and china, glittering on all sides. And 
now, while the door is shut, and " upstair " 
duties over, what an honest sympathy — 
what a k'nife-and-fork commotion, what city 
giggles, and country jokes, are operating 
below! This is just as it should be; good 
servants are rare things, and occasional feasts 
and treats serve admirably well to keep their 
spirits and principles in tune. 

But all this has gone by ; and look ! how 
forbiddingly the deserted kitchen (a capital 
subject for a poem, by the bye) yawns on us 
now! — cheerless, noiseless, and tireless. The 
shelves are unfurnished, the walls are as 
bald as was Caesar's head, the kitchen 
utensils are piled up in different lots, the 
tread of the street passengers sounds through 
the iron railing, a chilly wind is creeping 
through the half-opened doors, and all is 
perfectly desolate and wretched. Who can 
endure such an uninteresting place? not the 
reader — so he will please to walk up two 
pair of stairs, and be introduced to a livelier 

And here we are in the drawing-room, or 
rather what has been a "drawing-room," but 
is now converted into a turbulent auction- 
room. And what a chamberful of characters 
and things ! With regard to the latter, it is 
a perfect chaos ; and if we may venture a 
poetical figure, we might say that the fur- 
niture has suffered insanity, and danced 
itself into monstrous parcels, collisions, and 
unseemly separations. Everything appears 
exactly in that place where it ought not to be. 

But for the former; — how shall we "hit 
off" the appearance of the different counte- 
nances and dresses of the company, in a short 
but masterly manner? Here are shoals of 
noses projecting forward, like gnomons of 
sun-dials — of all lengths and shapes. One 
shoots forward with a sunbeam kind of 
vivacity, as if it would start from its present 
residence into the gentleman's visage op- 
posite ; another sticks bolt upright, like an 
unmannerly hair; one curls pertly at the 
tip ; another is hooked, as if it could balance 
a kingdom at its extremity ; one is laughingly 
snubby, about the size of a thimble, another 
— but, — away with the noses, and let us look 
to the eyes ! And, first ; they are of all 



colors— fiery black, feline grey, and sleepy 
blue. Secondly, of all expression? — benevo- 
lent, malignant, envious, stingy, and sarcastic. 
So much for the personal attributes ; as for 
the dresses, being marvellously uninformed 
in millinery, I shall not attempt to analyse 
them. One thing must be observed, that 
the women's heads were nearly bare as their 
unblushing faces, and their forms " fashion- 
ably' 1 shapeless ; whilst the men's faces were 
masses of stiff hair, and their heads ''empty." 

To devote a description to all, or even a 
fifth part of the characters here assembled, 
would disgust the reader as much as it would 
tire the writer. Let us, therefore, glance 
round the room, and select from the multi- 
tude a few of the most marked, and who 
invariably haunt an Auction. 

And, first, for the "Magnus Apollo" — 
the rolling spirit — the mighty master of the 
" gab," and the accomplished wielder of the 
ivory hammer — The Auctioneer. 

There is one now before us, in the most 
graceful of attitudes, and with a most courtly 
mien. It is impossible to say whether any 
male sylphs have attended his toilet this 
morning; but assuredly, his habiliments are 
exquisitely disposed, and, in every respect, 
he looks as trim as a new sarsenet bonnet, 
from a milliner's band- box. His glittering 
locks group round his forehead in languishing 
curls ; his skin is exceedingly sleek ; and a 
breath of air might discolor the alabaster 
complexion of his neckcloth and his hands. 
Who shall do justice to the symmetrical 
mould of the ringers, and the contour of the 
wrist ? One little finger is loaded with an 
enormous gold ring, which is exhibited with 
much careful inattention in the course of the 
morning's sale. With respect to the style 
and color of his garments, we must not venture 
to speak ; so variable are the tastes of auctio- 
neers ! This much may be advanced with 
security, — that the cloth is mostly superfine, 
and that the " cut " is of the first-rate fashion. 
It must not be forgotten, too, that a pon- 
derous bunch of seals is always dripping from 
the waistcoat, & finale to the whole accoutre- 
ments of his person. 

The auction-room is the theatre for the 
display of an auctioneer's glory. Here he is 
quite au fait. Head, eye, lip, and hand — 
all come into action here, and awe the 
attendant "Johns" into obsequious promp- 
titude and smiles. To analyse an auctioneer's 
eloquence is an arduous task ; the forum 
and the bar can afford no rules by which we 
may dissect its merits and defects. The 
eloquence of the pulpit has certainly some 
consanguinity with it ; but it is too feeble 
and glimmering to enable us to institute a 
comparison. It is made up of abrupt spouting, 
chiefly recommendatory and insinuative. It 
is not a long string of arguments, tied to 

each other like the tails of the foxes which 
Sampson fired ; but rather sudden explosions, 
starts, and sallies ; flashes of plausive ver- 
biage, which, setting fire to the avaricious feel- 
ings of the heart, descend, like electric shocks, 
into the pocket, and attract the — cash. 

In one point the auctioneer is superior to all 
orators,both ancient and modern — in intuition. 
It is wonderful to remark with what celerity 
he glances over the crowded room, and detects 
the bidder in the slightest movement of a 
lip, or the most delicate stare of an eye. 
In an instant, he perceives the acquiescence 
— " five pounds ten — (thank you, Madam !) 
— five pounds fourteen — sixteen — eighteen — 
six pounds — (thank you, Sir !) —going at six 
pounds only — at six pounds only — this most 
admirable lot — shall I have the pleasure 
(looking to an old gentleman opposite, with 
a gaping mouth) to say six guineas for you ? 
It cost three times the money, I assure you ! 
— going at six pounds only — going — going — 
gone ! ! ! Madam, it is yours ! " 

Among the auction frequenters, the brokers 
stand conspicuous ; they are as constant in 
their attendance as birds of prey are on the 
plain, when the battle is over. There is 
something, however, very repelling about a 
broker. We cannot help imagining him to 
be heartless, and fond of cozening. He is 
generally a dusty-faced, Jewish-looking 
person, with a feeling of avarice for ever 
playing on his features. Being deeply versed 
in the science of detecting perforated kettles, 
and rheumatic chairs, he serves to keep the 
auctioneer within the bounds of probability ; 
and when the former occasionally indulges 
in his hyperbolic propensities, you may per- 
ceive the broker turn his eye on him, with a 
most eloquent sneer, as much as to say, 
" now that won't do ! " 

Like a duck in a pond, the broker gobbles 
all that comes in his way. Tables, trunks, 
carpets, and blankets ; no matter what, if a 
penny can be gained on them. To explain 
this, it must be remembered that old articles, 
when disposed in a broker's shop, suddenly 
acquire new beauty and value. Old chairs 
and scratched tables are no longer to be 
sneezed at, — they have assumed a glossy 
outside ; and Avhen a customer inquires their 
price, the broker very gravely eulogises their 
fashionable make and excellent material. 

And who is yonder lady, spread upon her 
chair with queenly gravity, crossing her 
thumbs and working her ferret eyes with 
diagonal glances? That is a lodging-house 
keeper, in tolerable circumstances, and on 
excellent terms with herself. She cannot see 
aught degrading in " letting out furnished 
houses," and therefore wears the veil with as 
much haughtiness as the finest among her 
like the broker, she is well known to 


every auctioneer in the City, and may be 



seen at the meanest auctions, where she 
arrogates to herself much pretension and 
consequence ; and henoe, indeed, she retires 
with capital booty. You may observe the 
auctioneer most anxious to please this house- 
letting lady, and hear him exclaim to 
" John," who is making his brown-paper cap, 
in a terrible flurry — John! hand the lot to 
Mrs. Dumbledoor ; don't you see ! 

She is as keen as the edge of a razor; as 
sly as the most experienced reynard ; as im- 
moveable as Mount Gothard. No auction pa- 
laver, no tinselled articles, no burnished tin 
passed off as silver, will entrap her. In the 
wink of an eye she runs through the tables 
of profit and loss, dissects the lots into naked 
reality, and as she has fifteen or more lodging- 
houses deposited in her " mind's-eye," can tell 
you at a glance how any article will " come 
in ;" — she is not to be " done." 

In front of her are a lady and a gentleman I 
apparently an officer and his wife. It is laugh- 
able to observe them ; — the husband is come 
to town, and intends to " settle;" well ; furni- 
ture must be obtained, and he is now dancing 
round every auction in the neighborhood. 
And how he bids ! — nothing comes amiss to 
him, everything seems so "excellent;" so 
"precisely fitted" for his purpose^ that he 
cannot resist. He has obtained a few hundreds 
with his wife, and " it would look very mean 
not to have his house handsomely furnished." 
His lady appears rather more prudent. 
She is perfectly aware that fine furniture 
will not be all that is wanted — and on this 
account, by various contortions in her fea- 
tures, inuendoes, tender little pokes in the 
side, and looks that speak the meaning — en- 
deavors to restrain his extravagance. But it 
is in vain. He turns round to her after a most 
tremendously foolish bargain, and whispers 
into Louisa's ear ; — " You know, my dear, we 
can easily dispose of any article we may not 
want." That sounds very well ; but it does 
not in the least abbreviate the lengthening 
visage of " dear Louisa :" — she is " certain " 
that her husband is auction-mad, and would 
tug him away. At the close of the week there 
is enough " furniture" to fill several of Pick- 
ford's vans — and what for? — a cottage with 
four rooms ! I have always noticed this kind 
of fool at an auction. 

There are fifty more " characters," who 
haunt the auction-rooms; one out of these, 
it would be sinful to omit- the universal 
bidder — but buyer of nothing ! Perhaps, of 
all the conceited town-fools who swell them- 
selves forward at sales, this is the most so. 
He is mostly a pert, pompous, priggish look- 
ing creature, with remarkably white hands, 
and dressed in a black coat that is perfectly 
speckless. Whatever the lot be, he takes au 
interest in it ; but is careful to bid early, that 
he may not endanger himself ! 

But it is in old books he apes the most, 
and assumes the air of an accomplished bibli- 
opolist. When a lot of mildewed volumes is 
exhibited, he smiles and grins, as if they 
were " a rich treat." Sometimes lie ventures 
to address the auctioneer, and exposes some 
error in the catalogue. He knows a mighty 
deal too, about i/aldus and //elzevir; Edit 
Prince, is the Prince's edition! He is fond of 
asking out loud, — " is this the whole of Wir- 
gilii Uopera V] 

But I will not " dwell" upon more " lots." 
So here let the curtain fall. 


[This department of Our Journal is one of its most 
interesting, as well as valuable features. Amusement, 
Instruction, Mental Improvement, and all the Social 
Virtues, are here concentred. Whether the Subjects 
introduced be on Natural History, Popular Science, 
Domestic Economy, the Fine Arts, or Matters of General 
Interest,— all are carefully digested, and placed before 
our readers in the winning garb of cheerfulness, good- 
temper, and a determination to please. Our amiable 
coi'respondents enter readily into our naturally-playful 
disposition, — hence are their contributions divested of 
that dry formality which cannot be other than repulsive 
to a true lover of Nature. Our columns, be it observed, 
are open to all amiable writers.] 

Spring, and the Feathered Tribes. — I dare say, 
my dear sir, you thought me very rhapsodical in my 
last, whilst so prattling away about my flowers, and 
anticipating the joys about to burst upon us from 
the lap of Nature. Well, you must he aware, ere 
now, that I am one of her ladyship's own children. 
[We take the greatest delight in thee, Honev- 
suckle. Not one, among all our readers, pos- 
sesses a larger share of our heart than thyself. So 
always write freely.] Every living thing I see at 
this season in the open air, fills me with rapture ; 
and I really long to have you as a companion in 
our rural walks. We shall have so much to tell 
you, and to show you ! [Rely, fair maiden, on our 
responding to your gentle command ere long.] I 
have recently been poring over the earlier pages 
of Ouk Journal, and note again with real pleasure 
your expressed sentiments about the wickedness of 
keeping our naturally-wild birds in a state of con- 
finement. Just now, the cruelty of incarcerating 
our lovely songsters, strikes one very forcibly. 
They are so joyous when the sun shines — so busy 
in preparing to greet us with their sweetest melo- 
dies! Free as air, they boldly claim their freedom 
as a right. You should see [We will see them 
very soon] my numerous company of little winged 
pensioners ! Imitating your example, I go among 
them with a jar of mealworms ; and how they do 
welcome me as they listen to my well-known 
approaching footstep ! It makes me so happy to 
win their confidence ! No fear is there about 
them. No. They follow me from tree to tree; 
from one end of the garden to the other. The 
affection we feel for each other is as pure as it is 
natural ; and we do have such loving, innocent 
games together ! Do you know, my dear sir, the 
very sight of a bird in a cage makes me sigh, — 
unless it be placed there under peculiar circum- 
stances. Canaries are of course exceptions to my 
remark. They are bred in cages ; andconihierneiu 



lis natural to them. By the way, I observe you 
propose to assist in carrying out Mr. Wollaston's 
plan of domesticating canaries in the open air. 
1 shall indeed rejoice at this. It must be a pretty 
sight to see them ranging about at perfect liberty 
over that gentleman's domain, — the sun lending 
full effect to the variety of their colors. [When 
you come to London, Honeysuckle, we will under- 
take to procure for you and yours a ready entree 
to Mr. Wollaston's grounds. We will, moreover, 
accompany you.] Wild birds are never ''happy" 
in cages. Anybody may perceive this. Their 
song — foolishly so called — is not joyous, mellow, 
liquid. It is a mere collection of snatches. The 
poor creatures no doubt amuse themselves as best 
they may, to wile away the time, — but no gushes 
have we of pure melody, no ecstacy of feeling, — 
so peculiar to them in a state of freedom. To con- 
fine blackbirds, thrushes, linnets, chaffinches, 
robins, &c, in wire prisons, — is it not an act of 
savage barbarity? [Most emphatically do we 
say, — " yes," Honeysuckle. There is no doubt 
whatever upon the matter. Could these poor inno- 
cent little creatures speak their feelings, they 
would indeed tell a sorrowful tale !] What is it 
that imparts such a relish to the song of our birds 
as we stroll abroad ? Is it not the landscape — 
the grove — the golden break of day — the contest 
upon the hawthorn — the fluttering from branch 
to branch — the soaring in the air — and the bird's 
answer to the call of its young? Here we have a 
pleasing association of exciting causes for delight. 
Nothing, perhaps, when our mind is well attuned, 
can be more pleasing than to gaze upon the rising 
lark. Hark ! how he warbles upon the wing, — 
raising his note higher and higher as he soars aloft, 
until he seems positively lost in the realms of ether 
oyer our head. Still the anthem reaches the ear, 
even though the chorister remains invisible. Then, 
mark how he suddenly descends with a swell, as 
he quits the clouds, — sinking by degrees as he 
approaches his nest, — the sacred spot where all his 
affections are centred, and for love of which he has 
shown all this joy ! Say, — my dear sir, is not this 
enjoyable ? Surely no person who can appreciate 
the feeling, would ever imprison a poor innocent 
bird between bars of iron and wood. How sweetly 
Chaucer sings, about the value a bird attaches to 
his liberty 1 Every word is true, and would break 
the heart of anybody but a citizen. The inha- 
bitants of cities are an iron-hearted race indeed ! 
I believe all you say about that. But let Chaucer 
be heard : — 

Take any bird, and put it in a cage ; 
Then do thy best and utmost to engage 
The bird to love it. Give it meat and drink, 
And every dainty housewife can bethink. 
Aye, — keep the cage as cleanly as you may, 
And let it be with gilt never so gay ; 
Yet had this bird, by twenty thou sand -fold, 
Rather be in a forest wild and cold, 
Feeding on worms and such-like wretchedness. 
Yea ; ever will he tax his whole address 
To get out of the cage when best he may : 
Sis liberty the bird dcsireth, aye. 

Let me hope that we may, between us, work a 
change in people's hearts; and thus prevent many 
a poor songster falling a victim to the cage. If 
there were no bird-buyers, there would be no bird- 
catchers. These last (you call them villains) are 
indeed the very off-scouring of all things. They 
visit our neighborhood as well as yours, and trap 

our finest nightingales directly they arrive. The 
blackcaps, too, — dear, confiding little creatures ! — 
fall easy victims to the trap and worm. I hate the 
whole race of bird-catchers, and would gladly 
exterminate them, if I could. I do all I can to 
attract our spring visitors to our sacred grounds, — 
but with all my care I am too often defeated. One 
by one our little pets disappear. — their vocal 
melody gradually growing less, until itisevenlually 
silenced altogether. I was going to say something 
more about the flowers — 

Bath'd in soft airs, and fed with dew. 

They are beginning to smile sweetly upon us ; and 
I could be eloquent in their praise. Much do I 
love these — 

Floral apostles, that in dewy splendor 

Weep without woe, and blush without a crime. 

But I really am ashamed of the space I have 
already occupied. Oh, my dear Mr. Editor, if we 
could but get all the world to think as we think, 
and to feel as we feel, — what a happy race of 
beings we should be ! — Honeysuckle, Henley. 

[Such a state of things, Honeysuckle, cannot 
exist on earth. Man is made up of such odd con- 
stituents, that there can be no universal harmony 
amongst us. Rough and smooth ; up-hill and 
down-hill ; smiles and tears ; sorrow and joy, — all 
are commingled. Happy they who possess a mind 
pure as thine !] 

Smell, Taste, and Touch. — It is curious to note, 
says Dr. Lardner, the senses of smelling, tasting, 
and even of feeling and touch. How liable they 
are to innumerable causes of deception ; if the 
organ at the time it I'eceives an impression be in 
any unusual condition, or even out of its usual 
position, the indication of the impression will be 
fallacious. If two fingers of the same hand, being 
crossed, be placed upon a table, and a marble or 
pea is rolled between them, the impression will 
be, if the eyes are closed, that two marbles or two 
peas are touched. If the nose be pinched, and 
cinnamon be tasted, it will taste like a common 
stick of deal. This is not a solitary instance. 
Many substances lose their flavor when the 
nostrils are stopped. Nurses, therefore, upon 
right and scientific principles stop the noses of 
children when they give them doses of disagree- 
able medicine. If things having different or 
opposite flavors be tasted alternately, in such 
rapid succession as not to allow the nerves of 
tasting to recover their state of repose, the power 
of distinguishing flavors will be lost for the 
moment, and the substances, however different, 
will be undistinguishable from one another. 
Thus, if the eyes be blindfolded, and buttermilk 
and claret be alternately tasted, the person tasting 
them, after a few repetitions of the process, will 
be unable to distinguish one from the other. 
Tastes, like colors, in order to produce agreeable 
effects, should succeed each other in a certain 
order. Eating, considered as one of the tine arts 
in the most refined state of society, is regulated 
by principles ; and nothing can shock the habits 
and rules of epicureanism more than the viola- 
tion of certain rules in the succession and 
combination of dishes. It is maintained that 
perfection in the art of cookery and the obser- 
vance of its principles at the table is the surest 



mark of a nation's attainment of the highest state 
of civilisation. Of all the organs of sense, the one 
whose nervous mechanism appears to be most 
easily deadened by excessive action is that of 
smelling. The most delightful odors can only be 
enjoyed occasionally, and for short intervals. 
The scent of the rose, or still more delicate odor 
of the magnolia, can be but fleeting pleasures, 
and are destined only for occasional enjoyment. 
He who lives in the garden cannot smell the rose, 
and the wood-cutter in the southern forests of 
America is insensible to the odor of the magnolia. 
Persons who indulge in artificial scents soon 
cease to be conscious of their presence, and can 
only stimulate their jaded organs by continually 
changing the objects of their enjoyment. — These 
observations are perfectly just, and are well 
worthy our notice. — Jane L. 

The Joys of Winter. — Awed by the progress of 
time, winter, ushered into existence by the howling 
of storms and the rushing of impetuous torrents, 
and contemplating with the satisfaction of a giant 
the ruins of the year, still affords ample food for 
enjoyments which the vulgar never dream of, if 
sympathy and association diffuse their attractive 
spells around us. In the bosom of retirement, 
how delightful is it to feel exempt from the mean 
intrigues, the endless difficulties and tumults 
which active life ensures ; and which retirement 
enables us so well to contemplate through the 
telescope of recollection ! When seated by the 
cheerful fire among friends, loving and beloved, 
our hopes, our wishes, and our pleasures are con- 
centrated ; the soul seems imparadised in an 
enchanted circle ; and the world — vain, idle, and 
offensive as it is — presents nothing to the 
judgment, and little to the imagination, that can 
induce the enlightened or good to regret that the 
knowledge they possess of it is chiefly from the 
report of others, or from the tumultuous murmur 
which, from a distance, invades the tranquillity of 
their retreat, and operates as a discord in a soft 
sonata. These are the moments which affect us 
more than all the harmony of Italy or all the melody 
of Scotland. — Bucke. 

Spring Flowers in the North of China. — In 
the north of China there are a number of plants, 
says Mr. Fortune, which have their flower-buds 
very prominently developed in autumn ; so much so, 
that they are ready to burst into bloom before the 
winter has quite passed by, or, at all events, 
on the first dawn of spring. Amongst these, 
Jasminum nudijhrum occupies a prominent 
position. Its yellow blossoms, which it produces 
in great abundance, may be seen not unfrequently 
peeping out from amongst the snow ; and remind 
the stranger in these remote regions, of the 
beautiful Primroses and Cowslips which grow on 
the shaded banks of his own land. Nearly as 
early as this, the pretty daisy-like Spircea pruni- 
folia^ the yellow Forsythia viridissima, the lilac 
Daphne Fortunei, and the pink Judas tree, 
become covered with blossoms, and make our 
northern Chinese gardens extremely gay. There 
are also some good Camellias which flower at this 
time, but they are generally grown in pots under 
such shelter as mat sheds and other buildings of a 
like kind can afford. The double-blossomed 

Peach, of which there are three very distinct 
varieties now in England, are perhaps the 
gayest of all things which flower in early spring. 
Fancy, if you can, trees fully as large as our 
Almond, literally loaded with rich-colored blos- 
soms, nearly as large and double as Roses, and 
you will have some idea of the effect produced by 
these fine trees in this part of the world. On the 
south-west side of Shanghae, there are numerous 
Peach gardens studded over the country. These 
are well worth a visit in the month of April ; as 
the trees are then in full bloom, and have a 
charming effect upon the landscape. It is in this 
part of the country that the celebrated Shanghae 
Peach is largely cultivated. On the graves, which 
are here scattered over all the fields and appear 
like huge mounds of earth, I observed many 
pretty Violets in flower, both white and purple ; 
but all nearly scentless. A little later in the 
season, that is from the 20th April to the begin- 
ning of May, another race of flowering shrubs and 
herbaceous plants succeed those I have already 
named. The most conspicuous amongst them are 
Viburnum, macrocephalum and dilatatum, with 
their large heads of snow-white flowers ; Spircea 
Beevesiana, and the double variety, which is more 
beautiful than the original species ; Weigela rosea, 
now well known in Europe ; Moutans of various 
hues of color ; Azaleas, particularly the lovely 
little *' Amaznaf Kerria japonica, the lilac and 
white Glycines, Roses, Dieh/tra spectabilis, and 
Primula cortusoides. It will easily be believed 
that with such a host of Flora's beauties these 
Chinese gardens must be gay indeed. But perhaps 
the most beautiful sight of all is the Glycine 
sinensis, climbing upon and hanging down from 
other trees. Magnificent are the effects produced 
by this climber when in such situations. I have 
again observed numerous examples this spring, and 
cannot help drawing attention once more to the 
subject. The fine plant of this species upon the 
Chiswick garden wall, is much and justly admired; 
but if you will imagine a plant equally large, or in 
some instances much larger, attaching itself to a 
tree, or even a group of trees, entwining itself 
round the stems, running up every branch, and 
weighing down every branchlet ; and; in the end 
of April, or beginning of May, covered with 
flowers — some faint idea may be formed of the fine 
effects produced by the Glycine in its native 
country. I believe it would not succeed if man- 
aged in this way near London, or anywhere in the 
north ; but the experiment would be worth a trial 
in some parts of Europe, where the summers are 
warmer than they are in England. Many of our 
northern Chinese plants succeed admirably in 
America. China and America are both situated 
on the eastern side of large continents. They are 
equally liable to extremes of heat and cold; conse- 
quently, the shrubs and trees of one country are 
almost certain to succeed as well in the other, — 
provided they are reared in the same latitudes, 
and grown in the same kind of soil. — Lector. 

English and Foreign Flowers. — Pick out the 
loveliest spots where the most gorgeous flowers of 
the tropics expand their glowing petals ; and for 
every scene of this kind, we may find another at 
home of equal beauty, and with an equal amount 
of brilliant colors. Look at a field of buttercups 



and daisies — a hill-side covered with gorse and 
broom — a mountain rich with purple heather — or 
a forest glade azure with a carpet of wild 
hyacinths. These, one and all, will bear com- 
parison with any scene the tropics can produce. 
I have never seen anything more glorious than an 
old crab-tree in full blossom ; and the horse- 
chesnut, lilac, and laburnum, — all vie with the 
choicest tropical trees and shrubs. In the tropical 
waters are no more beautiful plants than our white 
and yellow water-lilies, our irises, and flowering 
rush. — I send you the above, copied from 
" Wallace's Travels." It is worthy a place in 
" Our Own," which takes such infinite delight 
in the flowers of this dearest of all dear countries. 
— Lily of the Valley. 

The Blessing of a Good Temper. — The fol- 
lowing, my dear sir, penned by Dr. Alcott, hits 
very hard, right and left. His remarks, though 
cutting, deserve general attention. People who 
marry, says he, should look out above all things 
for a good temper. This is a very difficult thing 
to ascertain beforehand. Smiles are cheap ; they 
are easily put on for the occasion ; and, besides, 
the frowns are, according to the lover's whim, 
interpreted into the contrary. By " good temper," 
I do not mean an easy temper, a serenity which 
nothing disturbs ; for that is a mark of laziness. 
Sullenness, if you be not too blind to perceive it, 
is a temper to be avoided by all means. A sullen 
man is bad enough. What then must be a sullen 
woman ; and that woman a wife — a constant 
inmate, a companion day and night ! Only think 
of the delight of sitting at the same table, and 
occupying the same chamber, for a week, without 
exchanging a word all the while ! Very bad to 
be scolding for such a length of time ; but this 
is far better than " the sulks." — Oh, my dear Sir, 
I hate " the sulks." Do not you ? It does show 
such a bad heart to bear malice ! — Nannette. 

[Quite right, Nannette. A sulky person, male 
or female, deserves to be banished from all respec- 
table society. This, without any " notice."] 

What is Friendship ? — I put this question in 
Our Journal, considering that to be the proper 
channel through which to obtain a correct answer. 
"Friendship," according to Dr. Johnson, "is the 
state of minds united by mutual benevolence ;" 
and a friend, according to the same great autho- 
rity, is " one joined to another in mutual bene- 
volence and intimacy." Now what is a friend, in 
the times in which we live ? The answer, alas ! 
is plain. It is one who is joined to you in times 
of prosperity, but who is never to be found in ad- 
versity, — one who is ever ready to be a guest at 
your table when your purse is well lined, and your 
cellar well filled ; one who is ever ready to partake 
of your haunch of venison and turtle soup, and 
who never forgets to extol the quality of your iced 
punch and sparkling champagne. He is a jovial 
companion over a bottle of old port and Madeira, 
and will not refuse to join with you in a cigar and 
a glass of cold negus. One who will be ever 
studying to amuse you — and himself also, by in- 
troducing to your acquaintance some few of his 
amiable companions, who will be as assiduous and 
fawning as himself. One who will be ever ready 
to take a seat in your carriage, or occupy a place 

in your box at the opera. One who will be the 
most obsequious slave your wife can have ; who 
will play with her " dear little pet dog," whistle 
to her " pretty canary," find everything she does 
— or does not, " perfectly charming." He is a 
thorough " brick ; " for he will kiss the " darling 
baby," and actually dance the eldest girl about 
the drawing-room to pass away (so sweetly !) the 
ten minutes before dinner. He makes a point of 
never keeping the dinner waiting — especially if he 
smells turbot and lobster sauce. < hie who is so 
fond of you, that he will kindly sit down to short- 
whist, or piquet; and remain as long as he can 
conveniently continue escamoteing the bright 
sovereigns from your pocket into his own — whilst 
all the time he will be dexterously praising you 
for the wonderfully good-humored way in which 
you see the trick performed. He will even con- 
descend to occupy your spare room, rather than 
leave you too early. This friend will stick to you 
as long as prosperity does ; but not one moment 
longer. Let but one cloud of adversity appear on 
the horizon; let some of those unfortunate accidents 
occur which, in spite of all prudence and fore- 
sight, will sometimes happen to the best regulated 
families ; let it be discovered that your cellar is 
empty, and your purse equally so; that you are 
really necessitated to leave the mansion and 
occupy a more humble abode; that you are 
obliged to have recourse to your two legs to carry 
your person about ; that you must content your- 
self with boiled leg of mutton and turnips, with 
plain sherry and port — then mark the marvellous 
change ! Your noble-minded friend is now puffing 
his cigar outside the omnibus, or on the coach- 
box of the carriage of some new patron ; and as 
the equipage rolls by you, and perhaps splashes 
you all over with mud, he is looking at a crow in 
the opposite field ; or so intent upon reading the 
Morning Post, that he never perceives you — nay, 
not even though your wife were by your side ; or, 
if he should unfortunately turn round, and sud- 
denly meet your eye, he instantly pulls a large 
red silk handkerchief out of his pocket, and covers 
his face, so that you may not see his wounded 
pride and mortification. You are no longer a 
" brick." You are no longer a trump. You are 

no longer a fine fellow. You are a poor d 1, 

and not fit to be noticed. But as after a storm 
comes a calm, so it does sometimes happen that, 
after a trial of adversity, a tide of prosperity 
returns. You again inhabit a comfortable abode ; 
once more your purse feels heavy with more gold 
than you require. A neat clarence and pair are 
once more at your command. Behold now the 
miraculous metamorphosis ! Your friend re- 
appears, and absolutely has the insolence to take 
off his hat to your wife ; and, with still bolder 
effrontery, affects the greatest astonishment at 
seeing you again. " Why, my dear friend, where 
have you been this long while ? I had quite lost 
sight of you. Have you been to India or Cali- 
fornia? I am charmed to see you look so well. 
How are your dearest children ? Bless me, how 
they have grown ! really, I hardly knew them. 
Where do you live now ? What a nice pair of 
horses you've got ! How well they match ! Fine 
action, by Jove ! I shall do myself the pleasure 
of paying my respects to-morrow. Did not know, 
upon my word, you were returned from your travels. 

Have you seen Tom ? He'll be quite overjoyed 
to see you. I'll call and let him know the pleasure 
I've had." It is to be hoped, however, that ad- 
versity will have taught you to value the world 
and the world's friends at their proper rate ; and 
that you will have the good sense, when your 
friend and his companions come, to treat them as 
they deserve, and to let your door be closed for 
ever upon such a set of treacherous hypocrites. 
Let us now consider a friend as described by Dr. 
Johnson. It must be confessed that the terms 
friend and friendship, are so misapplied that, as far 
as the original meaning is conveyed, they are 
almost obsolete. A friend! What simple, noble, 
holy associations are connected with that word ! 
One who is always ready to share your pleasures 
and joys ; — when prosperity smiles, and your purse 
is full. One who is ever ready to share your griefs 
and annoyances, — when adversity frowns. One who 
makes his heart and purse your own. Who never- 
refuses to be of use, if it be possible for him to be 
so. Who is ever endeavoring by kind words and 
actions to soothe your sorrows. One whose beam- 
ing eye and cordially-proffered hand are ever ready 
to greet you with afiection in the saddest day of 
auction. One who shares your simple fare with 
more genuine friendship than can be conveyed by 
words. One whose heart and looks indite every 
word his mouth pronounces. One whose every 
word and action, whether in adversity or pros- 
perity, prove that he is your friend indeed. Such 
a character is rarely indeed to be met with; but, 
God be praised, not totally unknown — and would 
be still more known, if people would take more 
enlarged views of their duty to God and man; 
relinquishing a little of their selfishness and pride, 
and learning to live among, and conduct them- 
selves towards their fellow -creatures with frank- 
ness, kindness, and a proper deference. I hope, 
my dear sir, that you and I may yet live to see a 
more wholesome state of society than we too fre- 
quently meet with in the present day. — Bombyx 

The Operatives, — " Master and Man."— We 
p< nned an article last month on " Mechanics' In- 
stitutions," and similar laudable societies. In it, 
we glanced at the late " strikes " by operatives, 
and condemned the principle of their trying to 
obtain their ends by force; recklessly destroying: 
the property of their employers, and ill-using the 
industrious hands who were willing to work to 
support their families, — preferring that to a life of 
dissolute idleness. These remarks of ours, so 
wholesome, have been unfairly dealt with ; and a 
contemporary affirms we are taking part with the 
men's oppressors ! So far is this from the truth, 
that we regard the masters who pay such infa- 
mously low wages in the light of brutes, — hard- 
hearted, callous, purse-proud wretches, — in whose 
heart pity dwells not, and who are quite lost to all 
sense of justice and common honesty. From our 
very soul do we sympathise with the many suffei'- 
ing honest families now bemoaning their unfor- 
tunate position ; and right glad shall we be to 
see them restored to their former occupations, — 
better paid, better fed, and treated, by their 
employers as if they were really men, — human 
beings, entitled to be fairly remunerated for their 
services. Their pay of late has been insufficient 

to keep a fire in the grate; whilst their poor bodies 
have been almost in a state of starvation. The 
eye of God is on their oppressors; so let them look 
to it.— W. K. 

Canaries Living in the Open Air. — Several of 
our subscribers having expressed themselves 
anxious to know how Mr. Wollaston's canaries 
have withstood the intense cold of January, we 
despatched a letter, requesting particulars. Mr. 
Wollaston, it appears, has been most successful. 
Out of twenty birds that have been roaming at 
large throughout the entire winter, he tells us not 
one has been lost! This proves how hardy the 
canary is, if properly tended ; and favors our view 
that their introduction into shrubberies is a matter 
of easy accomplishment. Mr. Wollaston is anxious 
to see us, and we are as anxious to see him. " The 
first fine day in March " will soon be here ; and 
shortly afterwards Mr. W. may expect to see us 
there. Through his kind indulgence, we hope to 
escort a few of our fair friends to his rural retreat 
during the coming season of Spring, — Welling, 
Kent, is a lovely spot. — W. K. 

The Starling. — I have been more than pleased, 
exceedingly delighted, by a perusal of the many 
notes that have appeared in Our Journal, from 
time to time, upon the habits and playfulness of the 
amiable starling, — a bird who only requires to be 
known to be thoroughly and heartily welcomed. 
Unfortunately the race against whom you are 
(very properly) for ever waging war, slaughter 
these joyous little rogues directly they enter a 
neighborhood to find themselves a dwelling-place. 
Hence their comparative scarcity near towns and 
cities. However, Jam a favored being, as you 
shall hear. I reside in the neighborhood of 
Canonbury Park, where I have been located 
several years. On taking possession of my present 
house, I noticed that a pair of starlings had adopted 
its roof for their dwelling ; and had built a nest 
there. With great interest, I continued to watch 
their movements ; ami, in due course, the papa 
and mamma introduced us to their little family, — 
another choice pair. That was in 1851. I will 
not encroach upon your space to tell you all the 
fun and merry tricks that we have, ever since, 
witnessed among this " happy family." But there 
they are now, — tame as ever, — confiding, affec- 
tionate, and as full of play as these ever-playful 
birds can be. I only wish your readers could see 
them comedown, and strut about in their gloriously- 
gay and glittering colors upon our grass plot ! It 
is a pretty, — a charming sight. And to observe 
how they draw up the worms, and devour the 
grubs ! It is better than any play. I need not 
tell you what " pets " we make of them. Hitherto, 
we have managed to protect them; and they stick 
close to us, as if they really knew there was danger 
further abroad. I have often quaked lest some 
sporting neighbor's gun should be brought to bear 
upon them ; but somehow they possess " charmed 
lives." May we live till they die ; and may they 
live till we die ! Few people round London, I 
imagine, are so favored as we by the company of 
Sterlings. — Malcolm Goroox. 

[The savage brutality of man, alone prevents 
these noble little fellows (whose society we dearly 
love) more frequently domesticating themselves 

amongst us dwellers near London. Our garden 
frequently gets the honor of a temporary visit; 
but out comes a neighbor's gun the very moment 
the gay visitors are seen. A report is heard, — 
the birds take the hint; and away they fly, to 
seek more hospitable treatment elsewhere.] 

" Salt, the Curse of Old England."— No doubt 
you remember reviewing a book bearing the 
above title, some two years since, — and a very 
bitter pill your remarks must have been for the 
writer, Dr. Howard ! You charitably inferred he 
was " mad." It would seem so. He has recently 
committed suicide — impelled perhaps to the act by 
the neglect of using salt ! I send you the recorded 
particulars of the event : — Dr. Howard, the 
author of a very silly and ignorant work, tracing 
many prevalent diseases to the use of salt, and of 
other eccentric publications, died by his own hand 
at his residence, 6, Upper Gloucester Street, 
Dorset Square, on the 27th of January. The 
evidence at the inquest showed that he was 
found lying upon his back in bed, quite dead ; 
his hands and arms being crossed upon his 
breast, and the bed-clothes neatly arranged and 
tucked up all round. The features presented the 
appearance of a slight convulsive spasm. A 
small phial, with the stopper out, and labeTe I 
" Hydrocyanic acid," was lying on the table, 
and near it was a minim measure and a wine- 
glass. There was no indication of the slightest 
struggle having taken place. The candlestick, 
with about two inches of unburnt candle, was 
also by the bed. The servant of deceased de- 
posed that his habits were odd and peculiar, 
but that she was never afraid of him. Mr. 
Obre, surgeon, deposed that prussic acid was the 
cause of death. Mr. Keed Howard, of Alfred 
Street, Bedford Square, stated that the deceased 
gentleman was his brother. He had lived about 
12 years in Gloucester Street, and witness seldom 
saw him oftener than once in 12 months. He 
was in independent circumstances, and had pub- 
lished his peculiar opinions in various ways 
through the press. Witness could not account 
for his committing suicide, unless under a state 
of mental derangement. He rarely saw any of 
his friends. The jury, after a short consultation, 
returned a verdict that deceased had destroyed 
himself by hydrocyanic acid. — James E. 

[This poor man was no doubt confirmedly 
mad. His friends were greatly to blame not to 
have had him confined.] 

like a stone to the bottom of the sea. Oh ! my 
friend, such is my love. It is bound to me as 
portion of my life. Peace be with thee, my 
little w< 31-beloved friend, in the name of the true 
God, and the King of i eace. — F. P. 

A Tahitan Love-Letter. — I send you a speci- 
men of a " missive," penned under the direction 
of Cupid, at Tahiti. It is short, but sweet; ori- 
ginal, but expressive : — my well-beloved, my 
heart is troubled, it cannot rest! It is like the 
fresh and deep water which never sleeps, and 
which seeks agitation to find rest. I am like a 
branch which has been broken by the wind; it 
has fallen to earth and can never again attach 
itself to the trunk from which it has been sepa- 
rated. Thou hast left me, no more to return. 
Ihy face is hid from me, and I shall see it no 
more. Thou art like the beautiful shrub that 
grew before my door, whose roots struck deep into 
the earth. My body would unite itself to thine ; 
but in vain it seeks to transplant itself. It falls 

The Mind of Woman. — A writer in the New 
Qua?-trrl/j Review says, naively, — A woman's 
mind is rarely creative. Much sweetness of imi- 
tation she may possess; much tenderness, much 
melody. But originality is not her forte. We 
have no feminine epics — and we want none. Such, 
however, is the originality of most of the "ori- 
ginal " male, not masculine poets of the present 
day, that, compared with them, this may be a 
merit. — W. K. 

Mackerel on the Devonshire Coast. — The ex- 
citement on the Devonshire coast, when the shoals 
of mackerel come, is very great ; on their period- 
ical arrivals on the coast, which is their custom 
in multitudes, for the purpose of feeding on a small 
fry very similar to a whitebait, a practised eye 
will readily observe their manoeuvres some dis- 
tance from the shore, inasmuch as the moment 
they discover the food they love so well, their 
numbers and greedy propensities cause them to 
rush on their prey ; which, endeavoring to escape 
from death, disturb the water in large circles 
like a shower of hailstones dropping therein ; in- 
deed we know of nothing more similar to compare 
it to. The moment one of these disturbed spots 
appears on the water, men are placed on the 
highest cliffs to look out, while the boats with their 
crews and nets prepared are launched and ready 
for action. The mackerel are sometimes seen at 
least a mile from shore ; but the moment they attack 
the small bait, the latter fly nearer and nearer to 
the beach, till at times they approach within 
a hundred yards or nearer; and then while the 
look-out man, who discovers them more readily 
from an eminence, shouts at the extent of his lungs, 
the boats are rapidly rowed around the feasting 
fish in a circle, and then being hauled towards the 
shore by men on land, some thousands of mackerel 
are enclosed in a large bag at the extremity of 
the not; indeed, I once witnessed the taking of 
several thousand, and the sight was of no common 
interest to those who had not previously witnessed 
it. Neither was the eating of these fish, stiff and 
fresh from the water, without interest ; they are as 
different, be assured, from a London mackerel, as 
a crimped Severn from an Irish salmon. — Byxq 

Artificial Pearls in China. — It was stated in a 
paper recently read before the members of the 
Royal Asiatic Society, that the artificial produc- 
tion of pearls froni the mussel fish is carried on to a 
great extent at Hoochow, China. The fish are 
collected in April arid May ; and are opened by 
children, who place a small bit of bamboo in the 
orifice to keep the shells apart. A piece of brass 
or bone, a small pebble, or a pellet of mud, is then 
introduced, a dose of three to five spoonfuls of 
fish-scales pounded and mixed with water is 
poured in, and the stick removed. The fish are 
then placed a few inches apart in ponds, the water 
in which is from three to five feet deep, and which 
are well manured wLh night-soil four or five times 



every year. In these ponds the fish are allowed 
to remain from ten months to three years. Upon 
taking them out, the shell is cut through with a 
fine saw, the pearl is separated from the shell, and 
the pellet, or other substance within it, extracted. 
It is then filled with white wax, and a piece of the 
shell carefully attached, to conceal the aperture. 
Several millions of pearls are thus produced 
annually, worth from about a penny to eightpence 
a pair. — E. J. 

Locality — Particular places become dear to the 
heart of man ; more generally by the associations 
attached to them than by their beauty, convenience, 
or fertility. Nor is this the case only as affecting 
individuals ; for attachment, founded on memories 
or traditions, binds tribes and nations likewise to 
certain spots. And this is c arried so far, occasion- 
ally, that the mere name uf a distant country will 
excite in the bosom feelings of affection and devo- 
tion, joy, pride, and hope. — Mimosa. 

The Umbrella Bird. — This singular bird is about 
the size of a raven, and is of a similar color ; but 
its feathers have a more scaly appearance, from 
being margined with a different shade of glossy 
blue. It is also allied to the crows in its structure, 
being very similar to them in its feet and bill. On 
its head it bears a crest, different from that of any 
other bird. It is formed of feathers more than 
two inches long, very thickly set, and with hairy 
plumes curving over at the end. These can be 
laid back so as to be hardly visible, or can be 
erected and spread out on every side, forming a 
hemispherical, or rather a hemiellipsoidal dome 
completely covering the head, and even reaching 
beyond the point of the beak ; the individual 
feathers standing out something like the down- 
bearing seeds of the dandelion. Besides this, 
there is another ornamental appendage on the 
breast, formed by a fleshy tubercle, as thick as a 
quill, and an inch and a-half long, which hangs 
down from the neck, and is thickly covered with 
glossy feathers, forming a large pendent plume or 
tassel. This also the bird can either press to its 
breast, so as to be scarcely visible, or can swell out, 
so as almost to conceal the fore part of the body. 
In the female the crest and the neck-plume are 
less developed, and she is altogether a smaller and 
much less handsome bird. It inhabits the flooded 
islands of the Eio Negro and the Solimoes, never 
appearing on the mainland. It feeds on fruits, 
and utters a loud hoarse cry, like some deep 
musical instrument; whence its Indian name, 
Ueramimbe, " trumpet bird." — Wallace. 

The Goat Moth. — I see, in the last number 
of the " Naturalist," page 45, the following note 
on the caterpillar of the goat-moth (Cossus Lig- 
niperda). " I met with a singular instance of 
tenacity of life in the caterpillar of the goat-moth. 
It had escaped from the box containing it, and 
when upon the floor was in fortunately trodden 
upon. A tea-spoonful of thick, cream-like matter 
was squeezed out, and speedy death seemed 
certain. It lived, however, under these painful 
circumstances, more than a week. It laid upon 
its back, apparently lifeless ; but moved when 
touched. — T. P., Fernie, Eimbolton, December 
22nd, 1853." Now, I really must take upon 

myself to plead for the caterpillar of Cossus Ligni- 
perda, and for every sort of larva. I am ready 
to allow that these creatures are not probably 
endowed with such exquisite sensations of pain 
and suffering as are some other animals; but 
surely this is a positive record of torture; which 
cannot be justified by any gratification of curiosity 
whatsoever. An accident befel this larva. It 
was seen by T. P. Fernie, of Kimbolton, to be 
fatal ; and yet he continued to let this poor cater- 
pillar drag out to the veriest extreme its length 
of torture ! This is the ne plus ultra of cruelty, 
for it was merely to gratify his own curiosity that 
this shoeking cruelty was inflicted. He knew, 
immediately, the wound must be fatal. Let T. 
P. Fernie (should this ever reach his eye) con- 
sider kindly the advice of an old entomologist, 
and be certain that it is unwise as unnecessary 
to put any creature to torture, for the simple 
gratification of our own curiosity. We were all 
created by the same Almighty Being ; and man 
can have no right to torture any of his creatures. 
If we cannot discover the peculiarities of any 
particular insect without inflicting pain or torture, 
depend upon it we had better remain in ignorance. 
— Bombyx Atlas. 

Butterflies of the Valley of the Amazon. — I 
send you herewith an extract from No. 135 (page 
4179) of the "Zoologist," — having reference to 
the position of repose in the species of moth, Cato- 
cala ; a subject on which Mr. Westwood and Mr. 
Curtis differ : " Proceedings of the Entomological 
Society. — Butterflies of the Valley of the Amazon. 
— Mr. Westwood, in reference to a remark in Mr. 
Wallace's paper, that a certain species of Hes- 
peria, with a very beautiful under surface, sat 
with its wings erect, observed that Nature gener- 
ally provided that adornments of this kind should 
be exhibited. It was particularly the case with 
the Catocalidce, which, having very beautiful 
under wings, rested with the upper wings open, 
so that the under wings were exposed. Mr. 
Curtis differed from Mr. Westwood. He thought 
that in the genus Catocala (especially in C. 
Nupta), this was not the case. — T. W. D." 
Now, my dear sir, is it not wonderful, that two 
gentlemen so eminent in the entomological world 
should differ upon such a very simple subject ? I 
do not presume to give an opinion, but I will state 
a matter of fact. I have caught hundreds of 
Catocalido3, and seen hundreds more in a state 
of repose ; yet never did I see one vain enough to 
exhibit the beautiful under wings, however proud 
he might be of them. No, Mr. Editor; they are 
all a modest family (at least in a state of repose), 
and conceal the richness of their under dress 
beneath an upper garment of sober ash -color (in 
some, more or less tinged with fulvous). This 
holds good whether we talk of the blue, the red, 
or the yellow underwing. There is one of this 
species, however, I am bound to confess, which is 
rather coquettish. I mean Electa. The others 
of the species are mostly found with their heads 
upwards, and their abdomen downwards, or a little 
inclined to the right or the left. Electa, forsooth, 
must invariably have his head downwards, and 
his abdomen raised. Why he does not behave 
like others of his family, is more than I can dis- 
cover. I merely mention the case for the amuse- 



ment of some, and, may be, to their profit. If you 
should not find tins dissertation too lengthy, please 
give it a corner. — Bombyx Atlas. 

Cure for Rheumatism, Scalds, and Sprains. — 
Can you tell me any really efficient remedy, for 
giving relief from suffering in the above cases ? 
I have noticed your remarks about the wadding 
as a panacea for lumbago, and have seen it tried 
in several instances with complete success. I am 
aware that the simplest remedies are generally the 
best, and shall indeed feel glad if you can aid me 
in my present inquiry. — Charles W. 

[You are right. Simple remedies are always 
the best. Provide yourself with some of " Mea- 
sam's Medicated Cream," and apply it freely 
according to the directions therewith given. We 
need say no more, as the experiment is so inex- 
pensive, and so easily made. We had a severely- 
sprained hand not long since, and by using this 
only once, we derived wonderful benefit. In cases 
of rheumatism, too, its virtues can hardly be 
sufficiently estimated. Its chief recommendation 
is, the, power it possesses of thoroughly cleansing 
the skin ; thus assisting insensible perspiration 
and inducing a healthy state of body.] 

Early Spring. — Whilst I now write (Feb. 6), 
our blackbirds, thrushes, missel-thrushes, chaf- 
finches, &c, are in full voice. They have been 
rehearsing for some time. Several of the cock 
birds are now fighting outside my window — in an 
arbutus tree, hard by. The wood-pigeons build 
in the firs and evergreens close to our house. 
One nest was not ten feet from the end of it. 
The squirrels also are very busy building their 
nest just over our front gate, in a large red cedar 
tree. They may be seen running about on the 
lawn, almost any day ; and as they are not allowed 
to be molested, they make this place their head- 
quarters. It is very interesting to see them 
playing round the trunk of a noble elm, which 
grows on the lawn, about sixty feet from the front 
door ; they generally have a brood in the shrubbery, 
close to the drawing-room windows, and are very 
constantly passing on the gravel in front. I will 
shortly send you an interesting account of a tame 
one that I had, which lived in the house for above 
eighteen months, and then died. It will be 
another illustration of the "effects of kindness." — 
C. F. T. Y., Stockleigh Pomeroy, Devon. 

[Thank you. Send us the paper on the Squir- 
rel by all means. It will be most acceptable.] 

Influence of the Moon in Tropical Climates. — I 
find the following interesting remarks, in "Martin's 
Historyof the British Colonies." It is worthy 
a place in the columns of Our Own. — Whilst con- 
sidering the climate of tropical countries, the 
influence of the moon seems to be entirely over- 
looked; and surely, if the tides of the vast ocean 
are raised from their fathomless bed by lunar 
power, it is not too much to assert that the tides 
of the atmosphere are liable to a similar influence ; 
this much is certain, that, in the low land of 
tropical countries, no attentive observer of nature 
will fail to witness the power exercised by the 
moon over the seasons, and also over animal and 
vegetable nature. As regards the latter, it may 

be stated, that there are certainly thirteen springs 
and thirteen autumns in Demerara in the year ; 
for so many times does the sap of trees ascend to 
the branches and descend to the roots. For 
example, wallaba (a resinous tree, common in the 
Demerara woods, somewhat resembling maho- 
gany, ) if cut down in the dark, a few days before 
the new moon, is one of the most durable woods 
in the world for house-building, posts, &c. In that 
state, attempt to split it, and, with the utmost 
difficulty, it would be riven in the most jagged 
and unequal manner that can be imagined. Cut 
down another ivallaba (that grew within a few 
yards of the former) at full moon, and the tree 
can be easily split into the finest smooth shingles, 
of any desired thickness; or into staves for making 
casks ; but, in this state, applied to house-building 
purposes, it speedily decays. Again, bamboos, 
as thick as a man's arm, are sometimes used for 
paling, &c. : if cut at the dark moon, they will 
invariably endure for ten or twelve years; if at 
full moon, they will be rotten in two or three 
years. Thus it is w T ith most, if not all, of the forest 
trees. Of the effects of the moon on animal life, 
very many instances could be cited. I have seen 
in Africa, newly-littered young perish in a few 
hours, at the mother's side, if exposed to the rays 
of the full moon ; fish become rapidly putrid ; and 
meat, if left exposed, incurable or unpreservable 
by salt, — the mariner, heedlessly sleeping on the 
deck, becoming afflicted with nyctolopia or night 
blindness ; at times the face hideously swollen, if 
exposed during sleep, to the moon's rays; the 
maniac's paroxysms renewed w r ith fearful vigor at 
the full and change ; and the cold damp chill of 
the ague supervening on the ascendancy of this 
apparently mild yet powerful luminary. Let her 
influence over this earth be studied ; it is more 
powerful than is generally known — Emily P. 

The Bed Men of North America. — The whole 
number of red men still surviving in North 
America is estimated at 400,000 ; and of these it 
is calculated that 18,000 still linger in the country 
east of the Mississippi — that is to say, in the 
organised territories of the Union. There are 
said to be about 150,000 Indians in California and 
New Mexico, 12,000 in the Utah or Mormon 
country, 23,000 in Oregon, 63,000 in the Plains 
and Kocky Mountains, 29,000 in Texas ; and 
about 110,000 in Minnesota and along the Texan 
border. — Lector . 

Effects of Spring on the Sap in Trees. — The 
fact that physiologists differ in their opinions as 
to the circulation of the sap in plants, and the 
consequent phenomena exhibited in their eco- 
nomy, is, of course, conclusive evidence that the 
subject is not thoroughly understood. This being 
admitted, no apology is necessary in offering, for 
the consideration of those interested in the sub- 
ject, some opinions, the result of facts — or, at 
least, what appear to me as facts — gleaned from 
recent investigation. I have often observed in 
examining the stools from which Oaks have 
recently been cut in spring, a diversity of appear- 
ance; caused by the rising sap, which continued 
to exude for some time after the trees were felled. 
Thus, some would show that, at the time of 
felling the tree, the sap had risen exclusively 



through the tubes of the alburnum, and that very 
copiously too. Others would, on the contrary, 
scarcely exhibit a trace of the fluid in that por- 
tion of the bole ; but immediately surrounding 
the pith or medullary canal, an abundant exu- 
dation would be evident. The cause of these very 
marked differences were for some time inexpli- 
cable to me. By following at intervals for several 
days the tracks of some woodmen, I found that 
the two appearances, as described, were not 
observable on stools left from the same day's 
cutting; or, in other words, where trees were cut 
yesterday, the sap would perhaps exude wholly 
from the sap wood; while in those from which 
they had only been felled a few hours, the tubes im- 
mediately surrounding the heart of the tree would 
alone convey the rising fluid. I was confident 
that these differences did not arise from causes 
attributable merely to the lapse of time between 
the felling of the trees and the period of my 
observation. For, in a series of visits, I found 
the respective appearances equally evident on the 
same day of the cutting of the tree. The ap- 
parent difficulty of solving the problem was now 
greater than before. This, however, only stimu- 
lated me in my research. A few hours gave me 
a clue to the solution. Passing near a hedge-row 
where the woodmen were at work, I observed 
them beating the bole of a tree near the base — to 
facilitate the removal of the bark there, previous 
to cutting it down. I knew well enough that 
this process was resorted to when the bark would 
not " run " well, a contingency brought about by 
the stagnation of the. sap in that part of the tree. 
I knew that a change of temperature would in 
a few hours bring about such a contingency 
in a tree that previously parted with its bark with 
facility. Reasoning upon the facts previously 
gleaned, I returned to the spot shortly, and with- 
in an hour after the tree had been felled. The 
workmen were stripping off the bark with dif- 
ficulty, except at the extremity of the branches, 
where the difficulty was not so apparent ; and 
at the upper branches of the tree it parted from 
the wood readily enough. On examining the 
stool, I found but a slight trace of sap in the 
alburnum ; but immediately around, and at a small 
distance from the centre of the tree, the flow was 
great. Several other trees cut on the same 
day presented similar phenomena. The cause of 
the bark not parting from this tree readily was 
accounted for by the men, and of course justly — 
by the frost which on the previous night had 
been somewhat severe for the season. On the 
preceding day every tree cut down barked readily 
enough. Following up the investigation, I found 
that where the stool of a fallen tree was exuding 
the sap from the alburnum, the tree had been cut 
when the weather was favorable, and when the 
bark from the bole readily separated from the 
wood ; and, on the other hand, wdiere the vessels 
around the pith transmitted the fluid, the tree 
had been felled after a frosty night, or when the 
weather was cold and ungenial. Having gleaned 
thus much, I entered into conversation with the 
men who were cutting the trees. They informed 
me that when the bark around the lower part of a 
tree separated with difficulty, it parted much 
more readily from the branches, especially those 
near the top, and vice versa. Now from these 

facts, the inferences to be drawn appear to me to 
be suffieient upon which to build a theory, at 
once throwing light upon some of the intricacies 
of the vegetable economy ; and also to afford 
a beautiful example — one among innumerable 
others — of the admirable compensative powers so 
abundantly evident in the mere organic as well as 
in the more elaborately -organised animal king- 
dom. The ordinary channel of the upward cur- 
rent of sap is through the tubes of the alburnum. 
Its progress is accelerated by warm weather ai.d 
retarded by cold. If, after the progress of vege- 
tation in spring has once set in, a retardation in 
the flow of sap were to accrue in equal ratios with 
the fluctuations of temperature incident to our 
variable springs— it is easy to comprehend that 
utter stagnation in the vital powers of plants 
would follow — with what results will be readily 
seen. In a common-sense view of the subject, 
this contingency is to be apprehended ; but the 
moment that the conditions favorable for such 
present themselves, a compensatory power is 
brought into action, and the demands of the vegeta- 
ting principle is still supplied. The sap, checked 
by its near proximity to the lowering temperature 
of the air, when flowing through the tubes nearest 
the outside of the tree, immediately seeks other 
channels open to it ; and thus the circulation goes 
on unchecked, or at least checked but slightly. 
These central tubes, a designation given to them 
by Mr. Knight, are known to extend uninterrup- 
tedly to the tip of the minutest branch ; and 
through them a communication is undoubtedly 
established, either by subordinate vessels or cel- 
lular tissue, or both, to all parts of the tree. It 
has always appeared to me that the medullary 
rays play a more important part in the circulating 
economy of plants than physiologists have hither- 
to given them credit for. I am aware tl at 
the argument I have endeavored to establish 
is open to apparent objections — and those weighty 
ones. In hollow trees no central vessels can, at 
least in the trunk, be present; and these, want- 
ing the compensating power, cannot be brought 
into play. And we do not find such remains of 
trees destroyed by sudden death more frequently 
than young and vigorous specimens. These 
are facts that do not admit of argument; yet I do 
not think they can be justly urged as antagonistic 
to the position I have advanced. An old and 
hollow tree, although yearly putting forth its 
leaves, and possibly producing fruit, merely exists 
in a morbid state. Its vegetation is feeble; and, 
as a general rule, year by year it approaches 
dissolution. Its existence is not healthy ; and, 
on the same principle that we should not admit 
the phenomena of life, as exhibited in a deceased 
animal as natural, we ought" not to allow those 
which are evident, either as the cause or effect of 
existence in a decaying tree, as data to assist 
us in our researches ; except, perhaps, as negative 
evidence in the healthy economy of other indivi- 
duals. In the intricate and comparatively little 
known science of vegetable physiology, inasmuch 
as it professes to give an insight into the action of 
the vital principle of plants, every fact, however 
apparently trivial, must be important. A correct 
science can only be built up by the accumulation of 
an infinitive number of isolated facts, contributed at 
periods, and by individuals widely distant. — G. L. 



General Indications of Spring.— I send you 
the following indications of Spring, which were 
observed by the late Robert Marsham, Esq,, of 
Stratton, in Norfolk ; and were read before the 
Royal Society, April 2, 1789. Mr. Marsham 
died in 1797", at the age of 90.— C. F. T. Y., 
Stockhigh Pomeroy, Devon. 


♦Thrush sings 

Snowdrop appears . . 
*liing Doves "coo" 

Turnip flowers 

Hooks build 

Hawthorn leaf 




Mountain Ash Leaf.. 

Horse Chesnut 

Maple leaf 

Wood Anemone blows 

Lime leaf 

Young Rooks 

Chesnut leaf 

Swallows appear.. 

Oak leaf 

Ash leaf 

Beech leaf 

Nightingale sings 

Cuckoo sings 

Hawthorn flowers 


Dec. 4 
„ 24 
„ 27 

Jan. 10 

Feb. 2 
„ 11 
„ 21 
„ 22 

Mar. 4 
„ 5 


























Feb. 13 

„ 10 

Mar. 20 

June 18 

Mar. 14 

April 22 

May 4 

„ ^ 

„ 6 


>> ■ 

„ 2 
>i 7 

April 22 

May 7 

April 24 

May 12 

April 26 

May 20 

„ 26 

„ 10 

„ 19 

„ 7 

June 2 


81 days 

48 „ 














































56 years 
55 ,, 

• * In the place whence I date this, the Ringdove coos 
all the year round ; and I have frequently heard the 
thrush singing on a mild day in the second week in 

Man a Savage. — I have often, my dear sir, 
pondered over your remarks about man being at 
heart a savage ; and I confess I see too much reason 
to take your view of the question. The daily 
records compel one to believe it. Reading, a few 
days since, Miss Bremer's last work, my eye fell 
upon the following recorded act of barbarity prac- 
tised upon a little bird at sea. Wearied by its long 
flight, it had taken refuge in the rigging of the 
vessel in which Miss B. sailed ; and here is her 
note as to the reception given it : — " I have been 
annoyed to-day, by the behavior of some gentlemen 
to a little storm-driven bird which sought for rest 
in our vessel. Wearied, it settled down here and 
there upon our cordage, but was incessantly driven 
away — especially by two young men, an English- 
man and a Spaniard, who seemed to have nothing 
to do but to teaze this poor little thing to death 
with their hats and handkerchiefs. It was dis- 
tressing to see how it endeavored again and again, 
upon its wearied wings, to follow the vessel; and 
again panted to alight upon its cordage or masts, 
only to be again driven away. I was childish 
enough to persecute these young men with my 
prayers, that they would leave this poor little 
creature in peace. But it was to no purpose ; and 
to my astonishment, neither did any of the other 
passengers take the little stranger under their 
protection ! I called to mind that I had seen in 
Swedish vessels little storm-driven birds treated 
differently — left in peace, or fed with bread-crumbs. 
The end of the pursuit here was, that after the 
bird had left its tail in the hand of one of its tor- 
mentors, it was soon taken ; it was then put into 
a dark cage, where it died in a few hours. — /once 

was also a cruel child. But then I did not under- 
stand what suffering was ; and what animals are. 
I received my first lesson in humanity to animals 
from a young lively officer, who afterwards died 
the death of "a hero in the war against Napoleon. 
Never shall I forget his reproachful glance and 
tone, as he said to me, ' The poor worm ! '^ It is 
now more than thirty years since ! " — This bar- 
barity appears inherent among the human race. 
To kill, worry, and persecute helpless animals, is 
called "manly sport." From the very lowest to 
the very highest, the feeling is the same,— -the 
practice is all but universal. Is it not shocking ? 
— Sarah K., Newport, Isle of Wight. 

[It is shocking. But no argument will ever 
alter it. Use sanctions cruelty. Children are 
taught it from infancy. It grows with their 
growth, and it strengthens with their strength. 
Read carefully the remarks on this subject in 
" Phrenology for the Million," page 101, of the 
present number.] 

The Human Brain. — Sir Bulwer Lytton, in a 
late speech made at Edinburgh, thus graphically 
recorded the wear and tear of the human brain. 
" In these days," said he, " half our diseases arise 
from the neglect of our body in the over work of 
the brain. In this railway age, the wear and tear 
of labor and intellect go on without pause or self- 
pity. We live longer than our forefathers ; but we 
sujfer more from a thousand artificial anxieties 
and cares. The> y fatigued only the muscles. We 
exhaust the finer strength of the nerves ; and when 
we send impatiently to the doctor, it is ten to 
one that he finds the acute complaint (which is 
all that we perceive) connected with some chronic 
mental irritation, or some unwholesome inveteracy 
of habit." How true !— how sad ! — W. K. 

Observations on the Weather for January, — 
at Barnsley. — There was rain or snow on 19 
days ; but in general in small quantities, except 
on the 4th, 7th, and 8th: — first heavy snow, 
averaging from 10 to 20 inches, and in some places 
drifted by the high winds to such a depth, as to 
make some of the lanes and roads impassable ; 
then sleet, changing to rain. The quantity fallen 
in the whole month was three inches — probably 
much more, as some of the snow flakes would be 
blown off the weather-guage unmelted. The 
highest point of the barometer was 30 in. 30. on 
the 26th, the lowest was 28 in 30. on the 8th. 
The highest point attained by the thermometer in 
the town was 25 deg. in the shade, on the 30th ; 
in the country the same day it was 48 deg. The 
lowest registered in the town was 12 deg., on the 
morning of the 3rd ; and in the country 9 deg., on 
the 2nd and 3rd — probably lower in the night. 
The winds have been from N.N.E. to S.E.S., 
S.W. and W., the last few days in great force. 
The severity of the frost during the limited period 
of its existence, was more intense than has been 
remembered by any one here. The pools, canal, 
and even the river Dearne, were speedily frozen, 
to the satisfaction of thousands of sliders and 
skaters. The ice was from 7 to 10 inches thick. 
It has been a hard time for the feathered race. 
Hunger has made strange companionship, and 
hard and soft-billed birds have flocked round the 
haunts of man, too often to their destruction, as a 



greater number of pitiless gunners have been at 
work than we suspected we had amongst us. Our 
winter visitants have been more than usually 
numerous. The common and jack snipe, red- 
wings, field-fares, wild ducks, wild geese, bram- 
blings, and siskins, have abounded. The little 
grebe, and the dun diver (the female of the 
Mergus merganer), have occurred in the Dearne 
valley. Woodcocks have been a little more plen- 
tiful than of late years. One was aroused up in 
Cockerham Gardens, Longman Row, close to the 
town ; and a water hen was taken in the town, 
which is yet kept alive. The more scarce water- 
rail has been shot, as also the ash-colored shrike 
or butcher-bird. — T. Lister, Barnsley. 

Delicacy and " Mock- Modesty." — Delicacy is 
a lovely feature in a woman's character ; but it 
must be genuine, — innate. Not that delicacy 
which is perpetually in quest of something to be 
ashamed of; which makes merit of a blush, and 
simpers at the false construction its own ingenuity 
has put on an innocent remark. This spurious 
kind of delicacy is as far removed from good taste, 
as from good feeling and good sense. The delicacy 
I speak of, is the high-minded delicacy, which 
maintains its pure and undeviating walk alike 
among women as in the society of men — which 
shrinks from no necessary duty, and can speak, 
when required, with seriousness and kindness, of 
things at which it would be ashamed to smile or 
blush. That delicacy which knows how to confer 
a benefit without wounding the feelings of another: 
and which understands also how and when to 
receive one. That delicacy which can give alms 
without display, and advice without assumption ; 
and which pains not the most susceptible being in 
creation. — A Lover of the Fair Sex. 

Musical Instruments : — The Patent Harmo- 
nium, and Improved Concertina. — Can you tell 
me, my dear sir, anything about the Harmonium ? 
I see-it advertised in your columns of last month. 
I imagine it to be a kind of organ. Is it adapted 
for a room, or for a church more particularly, — 
and what is its capacity ? Residing at a remote 
distance, I am unable to obtain a sight of the in- 
strument; and knowing the kindness of your dispo- 
sition, I consult you without offering any apology. 
— Caroline E., Clitheroe. 

[What you allude to, mademoiselle, is an Organ 
Harmonium, manufactured by Mr. W. Sprague, 
7, Finsbury Pavement. We have been down to 
make the requisite inquiries for you ; and can speak 
very highly of the instrument, whose powers were 
called into full action during our stay. It is 
adapted excellently well for the drawing-room ; and 
equally so for a church, chapel, or indeed any place 
where devotional music is practised. Being of a 
very convenient size, and occupying a very small 
space, it is easily transportable ; and not liable, by 
moving, to be injured in any way. The price is 
twenty-five guineas; which may be increased, 
according to the costliness of the external fitting- 
up. In the hands of a good performer— one who 
has a soul for music — the Harmonium is an instru- 
ment of rare excellence. It is equally well adapted 
for all the varied styles of music ; and possesses 
the richness of a larger organ. The effects are 
easily producible, — the tones being soft, mellow, 

or powerful at will ; in fact, there is a whole band 
at the disposal of the performer. The touch is 
beautifully delicate, — so delicate that the most 
rapid passages can be played off as if by magic. 
We should very much like to see one of these 
Harmoniums placed in the village church at Acton, 
where we often attend. At present, there is a 
barrel-organ in use; which, being out of repair, 
and many notes on it defective, the effect is dis- 
cord in place of concord, and devotional harmony 
or psalmody a misnomer. The cost is so very 
trifling in comparison with the coveted gain, that 
we trust our hint may be productive of good. The 
common dimensions of the Harmonium, are, — 
height, 3 feet ; width, 4 feet ; depth, 2 feet. 
Mr. Sprague has also invented a very pretty little 
musical instrument called the "Improved Con- 
certina." It discourses, when played upon, the 
most eloquent music, — combining distinct articu- 
lation with the most rapid execution. It is very 
easily learnt, extremely portable, of moderate cost, 
and equally effective Tor a duet, trio, or quartette. 
If you are in the habit of practising devotional 
music at home, we strongly advise you to procure 
a Harmonium. The melodious sounds we recently 
heard, yet dwell with us ; and enable us to speak 
of it with unqualified praise.] 

Another Snow Storm. — Our climate loves 
variety, and indulges in it to the fullest extent. 
Just when we were peeping out to greet the early 
flowers, and mingle with the bees rejoicing in the 
sunshine of a cloudless day, — lo, and behold, we 
were on the very eve of weather, colder, perhaps, 
(from the cutting winds) than any we had pre- 
viously had. We rose on Saturday, Feb. 18, to 
witness a snow scene, stretched, by the violence 
of the wind, over the face of the whole country. 
The landscape was one of unexampled beauty. 
The previous night had been fearfully boisterous ; 
the houses, right and left, had been shaken to 
their very foundations; and the destruction of trees, 
&c, was visible all around. The day, however, 
dawned brightly; and unusual activity prevailed 
in town and country. The sun's power, despite 
the howling blast, rendered the picture a cheerful 
one; and the "look out" was altogether pictu- 
resque. The check thus given to vegetation, has 
been a wdiolesome one ; and as the soil in most 
places had been turned over, it has derived addi- 
tional benefit from the fertilising influences of the 
snow and frost. All promises well, everywhere ; 
and if people continue to grumble, it is simply 
because they are "used to it." As for the winds 
and storms of March, let us face them bravely. If 
they do some little injury, they also do infinite 
service ; the one not for an instant to be set in the 
balance against the other. We have faced the 
winds of February, and we got the worst of it. 
But that is over, and we have become " seasoned" 
both to wind and weather. Another month, and 
— then ! Meantime, we will watch our oppor- 
tunity, and enjoy many a ramble in the open 
fields; leaving the grumblers to crowd before 
scorching fires, and to bewail their sorrows with 
faces a yard long. How the dear sun must laugh 
at such cowardice ! — W. K. 

American Railways. — It appears that the aggre- 
gate length of railways open for traffic in the 



United States on the 1st of January, 1854, was 
15,510 miles ; being an increase of 2,194 miles 
since the 1st of January, 1853. The traffic on those 
lines is estimated to yield a net return equal to 7 
per cent on the outlay. The state of the money 
market at the commencement of I853,inducedthe 
promoters of several new lines to proceed vigo- 
rously with the works ; but, as the year advanced, 
great difficulty was experienced iu finding money 
for the construction of some of the lines now in 
course of formation. It is considered that the 
state of the money market has given a wholesome 
check to the extensive progress of railway enter- 
prise, no less than 25,000 miles of railway having 
been sanctioned in the United States up to the 
commencement of 1853 ; thus leaving 9,500 miles 
to be completed, independent of those sanctioned 
in the year 1853. The average number of miles 
of railway completed during the past five years, 
was at the rate of 2,000 miles per annum ; and, at 
that rate, would require five years more to com- 
plete those sanctioned at the beginning of last 
year ; but it is expected that several of the less 
productive lines will not be proceeded with at 
present, while those which promise a large return 
will be proceeded with and completed as soon as 
possible. — L. R. 

The Memory of Music. — The readiness with 
which the memory lends itself to the service of 
music, is a standing phenomenon peculiar to her. 
By what mysterious paradox does it come to pass, 
that what the mind receives with the most pas- 
sivity, it is enabled to retain with the most 
fidelity — laying up the choicest morsels of musical 
entertainment in its storehouses, to be ready for 
spontaneous performance without our having so 
much as the trouble of summoning them ? For 
not even the exertion of our will is required ; a 
thought — aye, less than a thought— the slightest 
breath of a hint — is sufficient to set the exquisitely- 
sensitive strings of musical memory vibrating. 
Often, we know not what manner of an idea it is 
that has just fluttered across our minds, but for 
the melody, or fragment of a melody, it has 
awakened in its passage. By what especial 
favor is it, that the ear is permitted a readier 
access to the cells of memory, and a steadier 
lodging when there, than any of the other organs ? 
Pictures, poetry, thoughts, hatred, love, promises, 
are, of course, all more fleeting than tunes ! These 
we may let be buried for years; they never 
moulder in the grave ; they come back as fresh 
as ever ; yet showing the depth at which they 
have lain, bythe secret associations of joy or sorrow 
they bring with them. There is no such a pitiless 
invoker of the ghost of the past, as one bar of 
melody that has been connected with them ; there 
is no such a sigh escapes from the heart, as that 
which follows in the train of some musical remi- 
niscence. — Lily of the Valley. 

Anecdote of a Cricket. — One day, while sitting 
by the side of a large fire in the kitchen of a 
farm-house, I observed a cricket steal out of its 
hiding-place (which is rather unusual in the day- 
time), and begin to eat a little bit of bread which 
had fallen by the side of the grate. Happening 
to turn my head the other way, I saw what 
I mistook, at first sight, to be a round piece 

of dirt, rolling along towards the spot where the 
cricket was feeding. The cricket began, all of a 
sudden, to chirp very loud ; when three more 
crickets came hopping out of the nest. The 
piece of dirt (as I thought) turned out to be 
a large spider. Immediately the spider pounced 
upon one of the crickets, and began to carry it 
away at a very quick rate ; but the other three 
hopped after it, and tormented the spider till he 
was obliged to make good his retreat with as 
much speed as he coukl — leaving his prey behind. 
Two of the crickets followed him, leaving one 
behind to watch the wounded one. The two 
which pursued, had a struggle with the spider ; 
and had nearly done for him (which 1 was not 
surprised at), when the cricket which was left 
behind with the invalid, took up his poor woun- 
ded companion in his mouth, and hopped away 
to his hole. I then saw another spider, which 
the cricket had seen before I did ; knowing 
itself to be too weak to contend, and its com- 
panions being busy with the other one, it had 
sought refuge for itself and helpless companion. 
This spider had also a battle with the two 
crickets (who had by this time overcome the first 
intruder), and was vanquished and killed by 
them. The two conquerors then each took 
a spider home ; and I dare say made a good 
repast on their enemies. I took great notice 
of these crickets afterwards, and frequently 
amused myself with watching their motions. — An 
Old Observer op Nature and her Works. 

Ravages by War and Pestilence. — Some very in- 
teresting tables have issued from the Health-office 
comparing the loss of life by war and by pestilence. 
It appears that in 22 years of war there were 19,796 
killed, and 79,709 wounded ; giving an annual 
average of 899 killed and 3,623 wounded. In 
1848-49 there were no fewer than 72,180 persons 
killed by cholera and diarrhoea in England and 
Wales, and 144,360 attacked ; 34,397 of the killed 
were able-bodied persons capable of getting their 
own living ! Besides these deaths from the great 
epidemic, 115,000 die annually, on an average, 
of preventible diseases; while 11,419 die by 
violence. Comparing the killed in nine great 
battles, including Waterloo — 4,740 — with the 
number killed by cholera in London in 1848-49 
— 14,139 — we find a difference of 9,399 in favor 
of war. In cholera visitations, 12 per cent., 
sometimes 20 per cent., of the medical men 
employed, died. The London missionaries die as 
fast as those in foreign countries, and there 
are some districts in London which make the 
Mission Society ask themselves whether they have 
any right to send men into them ? From the 
returns of 12 unions, it is found that 3,567 widows 
and orphans are chargeable to the cholera of 
1848-9 ; entailing an expenditure of £121,000 in 
four years only. — William P. 

Remarks on Beauty. — The ideas that most 
people entertain about beauty are ridiculously 
absurd. The eye is pleased ere the mind be 
consulted. Beauty is in fact a snare, luring 
thousands to their ruin. Connected with this 
subject, I send you an extract or two from the 
pen of an accurate observer of life. There 
seems, he truly says, to be a curse upon physical 



beauty. Tn every department of nature, it is 
that which most speedily decays. The flower 
begins to die as soon as it is blown; and when 
plucked, it withers immediately. The old grey 
abbey has lasted for ages, but the beauty of its 
decorations has all been disfigured. ; the finials 
and the crockets are broken off the pinnacles, the 
sculptured foliage is mutilated by violence, or 
destroyed by moisture and decomposition; but the 
majesty, the dignity of the ruin remains. It even 
increases with age. It is so, also, with the bloom 
of youth, and the wrinkle% of maturity and 
declining years. The one is more dignified and 
majestic than the other; but there are very few 
who would not willingly exchange the dignity for 
the beauty, the imperishable and the growing, for 
the perishable and the declining. With time and 
a well-spent life, we gain in dignity wdiat we lose 
in beauty of person. We gain in influence, in 
respectability, and power, in almost all that 
ambition labors to attain to ; but the person 
gradually resigns its physical, as the spirit clothes 
itself with its moral and intellectual attraction. 
A double and contrary movement is thus going on 
in our natures. The spirit is growing whilst the 
body is declining — the sensual nature weakens 
with time, and the spiritual nature strengthens. 
The one becomes old, and the other becomes 
young with age. The universal interests which 
the mature and intelligent mind ever feels in 
nature, and her various works, is a youthful excite- 
ment ; compared to that mere love of sport and fun 
which is experienced by the young. The veteran 
botanist will travel the fields with young men and 
women, who will yawn with ennui whilst he is 
elated, and almost intoxicated with excitement of 
spirit. Every field that he visits, affords him new 
subject for thought and satisfaction — every wild 
flower that he plucks, is a text for an animated 
discourse. The young people say that he is a 
tiresome fellow, and they wish they were at home, 
eating plum-pudding or dancing a quadrille ; but 
that js because their spirits are old and torpid, and 
require muscular excitement to rouse them from 
their lethargy. He is the liveliest and the 
youngest of the party in mind, though the oldest 
in body. _ Even old people arrive at last at a 
second childhood, which, in many respects, is more 
beautiful than the first. The first childhood is all 
for self. The infant must have everything. It 
must have father's watch to knock about and break 
— it must have sister's doll to disarrange or 
destroy ;— it is " me, me, me," with the little child ; 
and it is peevish and discontented when it is not 
permitted to appropriate to itself whatsoever it 
admires. The childishness of age is just the 
reverse ; it appropriates nothing, but gives all — 
it robs itself to bestow upon others. — Puss. 

< A Mother's Affection, — There is something in 
sickness that breaks down the pride of manhood; 
that softens the heart, and brings it back to the 
feelings of infancy. Who that has languished, even 
in advanced life, in sickness and despondency — who 
that has pined on a weary bed, in the neglect and 
loneliness of a foreign land — but has thought on 
the mother " that looked on his childhood," that 
smoothed his pillow, and administered to his help- 
lessness ! Oh ! there is an enduring tenderness in- 
the heart of a mother to a son, that transcends all 

other affections of the heart. It is neither to be 
chilled by selfishness, nor daunted by danger, nor 
weakened by worthlessncss, nor stifled byi ngrati- 
tude. She will sacrifice every comfort to his con- 
venience; she will surrender every pleasure to his 
enjoyment; she will glory in his fame, and exult 
in his prosperity. If adversity overtake him, he 
will be the clearer to her by misfortune ; and if 
disgrace settle upon his name, she will love and 
cherish him. ivlore than this ; if all the world 
beside cast him off, she will be all the world to 
him. — Washington Irving. 

Crystal Brightness of the Northern Seas. — 
Nothing, says a gentleman recently returned 
from America, can be more surprising and beauti- 
ful than the singular clearness of the water of the 
Northern Seas. As we passed slowly over the sur- 
face, the bottom, which was here in general of 
white sand, was clearly visible from 20 to 25 
fathoms. During the whole course of the tour I 
made, nothing appeared to me so extraordinary as 
the immense recesses of the ocean, unruffled by the 
slightest breeze ; the gentle splashing of the oars 
scarcely disturbing it Hanging over the gun- 
whale of the boat with wonder and delight, I gazed 
on the slow moving scene below. Where the 
bottom was ,sandy, the different kinds of esterise, 
echini, and even the smallest shells appeared at 
the greatest depth, conspicuous to the eye ; and 
the water seemed, in some measure, to have a 
magnifying power, by enlarging the objects as a 
telescope, and bringing them seemingly nearer. 
Though moving on a level surface, it seemed al- 
most as if we were ascending the height under us; 
and wdien we passed over its summit, which rose 
in appearance to within a few feet of our boat, and 
came again to the descent which on this side was 
suddenly perpendicular, and overlooking a watery 
gulf as we passed gently over the point of it, — it 
seemed almost as if we had thrown ourselves down 
this precipice; the illusion, from the crystal clear- 
ness of the deep, actually producing a sudden start. 
— Helen W. 

Can Bats smell Danger at a Distance ? — A 
statement made by the mate of the schooner Dew- 
drop, of Whitby, which was recently wrecked at 
Arbroath, would seem to answer the above ques- 
tion in the affirmative. He says, the vessel had 
for a long time been infested with thousands of 
rats, but on the night before they left Hartlepool 
on the recent fatal voyage, the whole vermin dis- 
appeared ; not a single solitary rat being visible, 
where a day before they might be seen by the 

dozen !— E'. W. 

A Hint to Barents. — My admiration of what you 
have already expressed about Education, induces 
me to send you the following from Brasers 
Magazine. *' Education does not commence with 
the alphabet. It begins with the mother's looks ; 
with the father's nod of approbation, or a sign of 
reproof. With a sister's gentle pressure of the 
hand, or a brother's noble act of forbearance. With 
hundreds of flowers in green and daisy meadows — 
with bird.' nests, admired, but not touched. With 
creeping ants, and almost-imperceptible emmets. 
With humming bees and glass bee-hives — with 
pleasant walks in shady lanes, — all tending to 
mature acts of benevolence, and leading the mind 
up to God Himself. — Fedelta, St. Leonard's. 




Virtue, the strength and beauty of the soul, 

Is the best gift of Heaven, — a happiness that 

Far above the smiles and frowns of (so-called) Fate 

Exalts great Nature's favorites ; a wealth 

That ne'er encumbers, nor can be transferr'd. 

■ Armstrong. 

Shall ignorance of good and ill 

Dare to direct th' Eternal will ? 

Seek Virtue ; and of that possess'd, 

To Providence assign the rest. 



It would really seem as if 
sense were banished by choice, 
and that people were from 
their very cradle bent upon 
sealing their own ruin ! A 
very little consideration willl prove the truth 
of what we say. 

The world we live in, is a very curious 
world ; made up of the oddest elements. A 
walk through our public streets never fails 
to provide us with ample proofs of this. To 
read the countenances of the passers-by, 
— faithful reporters of what is going on in 
their hearts, is a favorite study with us; and 
use has made us a tolerable proficient in it. 
If we were to enter into detail on this sub- 
ject, we could paint a picture of life that 
would make the stoutest heart sigh. We 
have no wish, however, to bring too vividly 
before the eye what, under existing circum- 
stances, cannot be remedied. Many honest 
hearts are literally " broken'' day after day ; 
of which the world hears nothing, and for 
which, if they did hear, they would care 
nothing. It ever has been so ; ever will be 
so. The eye of God, however, is upon the 
sufferers. Their cry, no doubt, reaches His 
ear ; and in Him they find that mercy which 
is denied to them by their fellow creatures. 

Our object to day, is to reply to a few 
questions put to us by a fair and very intelli- 
gent correspondent, who is puzzled about 
man's "destiny and fate." She has related 
to us a number of curious circumstances 
which have caused her, she says, many hours 
of anxious thought ; and she wishes the 
subject to be profitably touched upon for 
the public benefit. With all our heart. 

Destiny and Fate are two naughty, idle, 
silly words ; we should like to see them for 
ever expunged from our English dictionaries. 
But so great is the perversity of human nature, 
that in proportion to the danger of handling 
such fatal weapons the greater is the delight 
in doing so. The believers in destiny and 
fate, give our coroners more occupation in 
their melancholy duties than all the rest of 
the world put together. They tell us so 

Without going very deeply into the many 
causes of the fatal superstitions which thus 

Vol. V.— 3. 

lead men to their ruin, we may comment on 
two, which are palpable to the commonest 
observation. The first is, the general intro- 
duction amongst us, in cheap literature, of the 
lax morality prevalent abroad. Every novel, 
or nearly so, savors of destiny, — the hero or 
heroine being irresistibly " impelled to their 
fate." This leaven works insidiously ; and 
the effects of it are before the world, spreading 
the sad influence far and wide. The second 
cause of the moral evil we deplore, originates 
in the pulpit.* Here the overwhelming 
consequences of erroneous teaching cannot 
be even outlined. They deal desolation 
throughout the entire land, — one convert 
to the evil doctrine seducing perhaps many 
others to drink of the deadly draught. We 
hardly need to enforce upon the readers of 
Our Journal, the grand and noble doctrine 
that man is both " a reasonable and respon- 
sible being," — gifted with talents, fitting him 
and qualifying him to shine in his day and 
generation. The words — " Well done good 
and faithful servant!" were not left on record 
in the Sacred Volume without a grand 
object, and a most significant meaning. 

It must be evident to all our readers, that 
the whole tenor of our remarks has ever led 
in the direction we now point at. Nor did we 
introduce a translation of the works of the 
immortal Gall into our columns, without 
having a grand moral purpose in view. 
Everybody that can reason fairly, and who 
is not shackled with the trammels of preju- 
dice, should devour the observations of this 
great man. He gives us the positive results 
of a lifetime of keen observation. His sin- 
cerity is transparent, as his arguments are 
forcible and convincing. If we read what 
he says, our conscience cannot but acquiesce 
in its truth. f We are glad to hear our fair 
correspondent say that she " loves his senti- 
ments, uttered as they are with such evident 
honesty of purpose." 

Our correspondent confesses, that she 
cannot quite understand how it is that the 
gifts of fortune are so unequally bestowed. 
Why one man should prosper and another 
fail, — both having apparently been equally 
industrious. Some, too, she says, become 

* Ministers of all denominations are in the 
constant habit of enforcing this abhorrent doctrine. 
Hence have suicides become matters of such 
common occurrence. It is a grand mistake, and 
a high offence against, Heaven, so to work upon 
the weakness of a person's mind; nor ought Hi" 
word "Religion" to be named in connection with 
such malpractices. — En. K. J . 

f We particularly direct attention to his very 
nice discriminations with regard to crime, and its 
causes; also to his doctrine about hereditary evil 
dispositions ; and other particularly-interesting 
branches of his inquiry into the human mind. — 
Ed. K. J. 




speedily rich, almost without effort ; whilst 
many others toil through a lifetime, and die 
in debt. All this is, at first view, a kind of 
puzzle. But it admits of easy explana- 

If we watch narrowly the rich man and 
the poor man, — the one who turns into gold 
all he touches, whilst the other can hardly 
realise copper, — we shall find an easy solu- 
tion of the riddle in the consciences of the 
two men ; and also in their respective capa- 
cities. The one perhaps is speculative, bold, 
and adventurous ; the other is timid, honest, 
and industrious. The one flies, the other 
creeps. "Nothing venture nothing have," 
says the one. " I dare not go beyond my 
means," says the other. That there is "a 
crook in the lot" here below, we readily 
allow. " Man is born to trouble, as the 
sparks fly upwards ;" but do let us be 
reasonable in tracing every thing to its 
proper source. Half the " miracles" we 
pretend to, are no miracles at all ; and we 
dishonor our ever-glorious Creator in so 
interpreting the work of His hands. 

We would not be misunderstood. Allow- 
ing every thing we see to be wonderful, — it is 
so, yet do all things work by a grand, 
universal, undeviating law of Nature. From 
the minutest seed put into the ground, and 
its ultimate arrival at the perfection of its 
race, to the upholding and guidance of the 
universe, — all is the consequence of God 
having said, — " Let it be so !" As regards 
" the talents" given to man, surely they 
were not meant to remain inactive, or to be 
misapplied ! No doubt we shall have to 
account for . the use we make of them. 
Neither Destiny nor Fate will avail us 
aught, as a plea for neglecting our enjoined 
duties one towards the other. Whilst our 
pen can write and our hand can hold it, so 
long will we advocate this pure, sound, whole- 
some doctrine. 

This is a very tempting subject to dilate 
upon ; but as we are not going to preach a 
sermon, we merely make a few general 
remarks. We have lived long in the world ; 
and perhaps few persons have watched more 
narrowly than ourself the world in its varied 
phases. We have noted the rise of many, also 
the fall of many. We have seen how wealth 
has been obtained, and have trembled ; also 
how the industrious man has struggled, and 
with difficulty been enabled to keep himself 
alive. We have seen the contempt of the 
rich for the poor. We have observed how 
gold invariably makes its way in the world. 
We have seen true worth in poverty, despised, 
insulted, and derided, — yet " happy "under its 
heaviest pressure. Our heart has frequently 
sought and found refuge here ; and triumphed 
in beholding the reward of virtue, — a peace- 
able conscience, and patient spirit, — submis- 

sion, resignation, and hope. With such 
good people let us ever dwell ! 

One word more. Our correspondent says, 
— " Do you not think that many a man and 
woman bring about their own destiny ? " 
Most assuredly they do ; and this proves 
the force of our argument. If a man will 
drink, — knowing the effect of the poison on 
his body and mind, he maps out and accom- 
plishes his own destiny. He destroys himself 
knowingly, and persuades himself that he can<- 
not help what he does ! This is a very common 
creed — a very easy doctrine ! 

As regards the position of certain feeble 
women, who fall a prey to the wicked 
artifices of designing men, we would fain 
say a word about their " destiny." It will be 
retorted on us, that they also " map out and 
accomplish their own destiny." True, — most 
true. But if the affluent of their own sex 
could see what we have seen and do see, what 
we have known and do know of their misery, 
anguish, and sufferings ; their bodily and 
mental degradation, -surely their adamantine 
hearts would not be so brutally callous as 
they now are to what calls so loudly for pity 
and alleviation. We say alleviation; for a very 
slight effort, if the will be present, would 
rescue many a sister from the destruction 
both of body and soul. We marvel exceed- 
ingly at the rocky hearts of women ; with 
scarcely an exception, all remorselessly turn 
away from even a would-be repentant sister 
who would regain her pristine estate. Happy 
is it for them — we speak it solemnly — that 
they never were placed in the way of similar 
temptation ; else would they, beyond all 
doubt, have "done likewise." 

" To err is human ; to forgive divine." 

It is never too late to reflect upon our 
neglected opportunities ; and we would fain 
hope that the sore evils we now deplore may 
be inquired into, and, where practicable, 
remedied. One single act of Christian charity 
thus bestowed, would place a woman in her 
proper character ; we should in her behold 

" An angel of mercy." 

Let us not plead in vain for what ought to be 
part of woman's mission. 

With regard to Fate ; let us add that we 
believe " Conduct" to be Fate. If analysed 
carefully, this will be found a true position. 
Whether as regards a good man or a bad man, 
the axiom holds good. Contact is, for good 
or evil, that which decides a man's "fate." 
If we keep good company, we shall inevi- 
tably be happy; if not rich. If, on the 
contrary, we associate with people of loose 
opinions and lax habits of virtue, the issue 
cannot be doubtful. We may become rich, 
and what the world calls prosperous; but 
" happy," never ! 

An honest conscience, a smiling counte- 



nance, a benevolent heart, love to God and 
his fair creation, — be these, one and all, the 
object of our life, now on the wane Then 
will our last days assuredly prove our best 
days, and we will cheerfully sing with the 
poet, — 

" Whatever is, is right." 

This is true philosophy ; and we never wish 
to go beyond it. 




that Salcombe lies between those two well- 
known points, the Prawle and the Bolt Head. 
I now propose to take the reader from Sal- 
combe along the edge of the coast, to the 
village of Hope, a distance of about five 

Starting from South Sands (which join the 
Moult on the western side), and ascending 
to the top of the cliffs, we come to a small 
indentation, called " Splat Cove, " which in 
the summer is greatly resorted to by parties 
of pleasure, who come by water from Kings- 
bridge and the neighborhood, to enjoy the 
majestic scenery and the refreshing sea 
breeze. In this cove, some attempts were 
made a few years since to work a copper 
mine ; but after two adits, each above a hun- 
dred feet in length, had been driven into the 
side of the cliff, the undertaking was (for 
some reason unknown) abandoned. On the 
lands above this cove, a spot was selected 
in 1812, by Sir Thomas Tyrwhitt, the gentle- 
man-usher of the black rod, with the intention 
of erecting a marine residence; unfortunately, 
however, he did not carry out his intention. 
This is to be lamented, as the situation is 
most beautiful. 

The property belongs to ther Bastard 
family. Between Splat Cove and South 
Sands, and nearly level with high water mark 
is a subterraneous passage called " Bullhole," 
which the common people in the neighbor- 
hood believe runs under the earth, to another 
place of a similar name in a creek of the sea, 
called " Sewer Mill," about three miles further 
westward. The tradition is, that a bull should 
enter at one end, and come out at the other. 
Whether these two openings communicate, 
has never been settled ; for none who have 
entered have had enough courage to proceed 
sufficiently far to ascertain the fact. Leaving 
this place, and proceeding towards the Bolt 
Head, which, rising to a tremendous height, 
exhibits the resemblance of a human profile, 
we come to a vast assemblage of craggy rocks, 
fringing the side of the head just mentioned, 
and inclining at an angle of sixty degrees, 
until they end in a perpendicular cliff at least 

one hundred feet in height. These rocks 
are called " The Sharptors." 

From the high ground at this place, a most 
delightful panoramic view is obtained of 
the harbour, the town, the estuary, and the 
country surrounding. Looking northward, 
the eye stretches over the fertile country 
known as the South Hams, bounded at the 
extreme distance by the barren hills of Dart- 
moor. Looking eastward, the view embraces 
a great extent of varied scenery, which ends 
in the hazy distance — for, as the Irishman said, 
" you can see out of sight " in this direction. 
Southward and westward, the sea, with its 
ever varied aspect and its fleet of ships — each 
pursuing their allotted track, affords a pleasant 
prospect to all who have the least taste of 
a seaman in their composition. 

Passing round the most elevated of these 
rocks, we come to the almost perpendicular 
cliff, at least six hundred feet in height, form- 
ing one side of a small cove called " Starehole 
Bay. 1 ' This bay is chiefly remarkable for a 
cavern, that is imagined to terminate near 
Marlborough church, which stands three m<les 
off in a north west direction. Many persons 
have entered the said cave with the intention 
of settling this question ; but the dripping 
of the water, which extinguishes the torches, 
added to the fear of otters, which resort here, 
has compelled the curious to abandon every 
design of penetrating to the end. Few have 
advanced above a hundred yards ! The path 
is narrow and winding, gradually lessening 
from the entrance, which is about seven feet 
in height by four in breadth. 

On the left side of the bay, near the mouth 
of this cave, is a rock, perforated by an 
opening eight or nine feet in height by about 
five in width, forming a natural arch, which 
opens towards the sea. It is not improbable 
that the cavern just mentioned forms a 
junction with " Bullhole," to which I have 
before alluded. 

In Starehole Bottom, is a large tumulus, 
rampart, or barrow, in perfect preservation, 
fifty-six paces in length, vulgarly called 
the " Giant's Grave." Popular tradition pos- 
itively affirms, that the whole of the bottom 
is the site of a Danish settlement or encamp- 
ment, and that there was a town in it ; or, to 
use the words of the tradition itself, as repeat- 
ed in the neighborhood, " By the records 
of England it was a Danish town and had 
sixty dwellers." It is said by some of the 
old people residing in the neighborhood, 
that in ploughing and digging on this land 
brass coins have been frequently met with. 
The summit, or top ridge of this rampart or 
tumulus (which seems to have been for 
defence, rather than sepulture) preserves its 
original sharpness ; and being composed 
of stones (I believe entirely), is not likely to 
be deranged. One reason for supposing it a 



rampart for defence, seems conclusive ; it has 
a spacious ditch behind it, and completely 
commands the valley. The situation and 
character of this bottom and bay so precisely 
suit the idea of a " nest of pirates," and pre- 
datory invaders, that it gives a great color 
to the generally-received opinion. 

Proceeding round the edge of this bay, 
we come to a point of land, in advance of 
which, rather to the southward, is an isolated 
rock, called the "Mewstone." This is a 
celebrated resort of the cormorant ; several 
dozens of these birds may be seen at once 
sitting with their wings expanded, drying 
and sunning themselves. They afford good 
practice with ball ; for they will let one 
approach within rifle shot of them. Still 
going westward along these cliffs (which 
here take the name of the " Warren," from 
their being inhabited by myriads of rabbits, 
who lodge among the crevices of the rocks), 
we come to the next object worthy of notice, 
a large rock lying off in the sea, called 
the " Goat." A little further on, is " Steeple 
Cove ;" so called from a great rock resembling 
a steeple. We now arrive at " Roberdeau 
Point,"'' doubtless so called, from the name 
of some French Captain whose ship was lost 
here. Next are the " Raven Rocks," exceed- 
ingly romantic ; and a short distance further, 
is " Roden " or u Randen " cove. There 
exists a tradition, that in the year 176 — , a 
foreign ship, loaded with marble statues, was 
wrecked here ; and that the statues were car- 
ried to Powderham Castle, near Exeter, the 
seat of the Earl of Devon. But what should 
have given rise to this story, it is at this dis- 
tance of time difficult to determine. 

The " Hamstone " is now reached. It is 
a small rock, situated a little distance from 
the shore, a trifle to the westward of which 
is " Sewer Mill Bay." At the entrance of 
this bay, is a picturesque cluster of rocks, 
consisting of one large and several small ones, 
called the " Parson and Clerks." On the 
high land near this place, is the Signal House 
belonging to the preventive station at Sal- 
combe. A few hundred yards from the top 
of the cliff stands a huge detached rock, called 
" Isel Tor." This object is peculiarly grand ; 
and viewed from a point twenty or thirty 
yards below, and a little to the westward, 
is one of the most magnificent rocks that can 
be seen, being of vast dimensions and per- 
fectly picturesque in form. All the scenery 
of these bottoms and heights is very mag- 
nificent and picturesque. About a gunshot 
to the westward of " Sewer Mill Bay," is 
" Dragon Bay," so called from a ship (belong- 
ing to London, called the Dragon) having 
been wrecked here, in 1757. In this vessel 
perished the family of Chambers, consisting 
of a sister and three brothers, who were 
returning from Jamaica. '1 he flat downs 

and bottoms, for some distance westward of 
this, are called "Cat-hole," as they were 
anciently the resort of wild cats. At the 
entrance west of these downs, is a waste piece 
of ground, near two monstrous large stones, of 
equal sizes. Here is said to have been the 
principal resort of the fairies (in Devonshire, 
called Pixies, or Piskies), and here they have 
been reported to have been seen playing 
their games and vagaries. 

Our next object worthy of notice, is a 
cavern called " Ralph's Hole." This cavern 
faces the sea (which is seen foaming at a 
depth of at least four hundred feet below), 
and is about twenty feet in length, 
seven broad, and eight high. The rock 
at the west corner of the entrance (by 
doubling which this cavern is alone ap- 
proached) projects to within two or three feet 
of the edge of the precipice ; in such a 
manner, that a single person within might 
easily defend his habitation against a host of 
foes. Only one person is able to pass at 
a time, and that with considerable difficulty ; 
so that intruders might successively be 
tumbled into the sea. The tradition is, that 
one Ralph, in order to avoid the bailiffs (for 
he was a pirate or malefactor who had fled 
from justice) made this his place of abode for 
many years ; and with a prong for his weapon 
kept the catchpoles at bay. On Sundays he 
wandered abroad, and his wife assisted him 
through the rest of the week in getting 
provisions. In what period this happened 
does not appear, but it is certainly of a very 
old date. 

The Eddystone Lighthouse may be dis- 
tinctly seen from any of the high land on 
this part of the coast. It is nearly in the 
line which joins the Start, the Prawle, and 
the Lizard. Near this place are the " Wind- 
stone Pits ; " these are a number of 
tremendous and deep fissures. It seems 
probable that some convulsion of nature 
divided the cliffs about this place, and shat- 
tered the immense rocks in pieces. Adjoining 
these, is " Ousehole Cove." Here opens a 
noble view of Bigbury Bay, the Rame Head, 
and entrance to Plymouth sound, the Eddy- 
stone, the coast of Cornwall, &c. Not far 
from this place, and at a distance of at least 
three hundred and fifty feet from the top of 
the cliff, (which from not being so perpendicu- 
lar as the rest of the cliffs, is just practi- 
cable) an attempt was made, in the year 1770, 
by one Easton, who resided at Dodbrook, to 
open a copper mine, but on the produce 
being assayed, and proving to be mundic, 
the attempt was given up, and the adventurer 
had the empty honor of leaving the shaft 
— his name 7 

C. F. T. Y. 

Stoekleigh Pomeroy, Devon. 

(To be Continued in our next.) 





Come, Dora dear, and let us rove ^ 
Where merry milkmaids gaily sing, 

And the sweet warblers of the grove 
Welcome the smiles of lovely spring. 

Is not this charming ? Here the sun, 

Already on his path of duty, 
Claims a sweet smile from everyone, 

And tips the verdant hills with beauty. 

Nature refreshed awakes from sleep, 

With smiles and tears, with sun and showers ; 

Smiling (ere she has ceased to weep) 
A hope of brighter, happier hours. 

Then let us share the joy she yields, 
And in her merry mazes mingle ; 

Chase the wild breeze across the fields, 
And flow'rets seek in forest dingle. 

Bright daisies gambol at our feet, 

And primroses sweet odors fling 
Across our path, where vi'lets meet 

To court the smiles of lovely Spring. 

Is not this scene enchanting ? Hark ! 

Melodious voices fill the air ; 
And soaring Heavenward, the lark 

Warbles his song of praises there! 

Can infidelity exist, 

And dare to press this verdant sod ? 
Can man, weak sinful man, resist 

The mighty voice of Nature's God ! 

The springing corn, the golden sheaves, 
Alike His wondrous works display ; 

The early buds and faded leaves 
Teach us to worship and obey. 

The little birds His mercies hail, 

With every season of the year ; 
And simple flow'rets of the vale 

Proclaim — " The hand of God is here !" 

Then let us join their hymn of praise, 
Of boundless mercy we will sing; 

And thank Him in our sweetest lays 
For all the joys of lovely Spring ! 



This very interesting subject, in which 
so many families take delight, is one which 
I consider peculiarly suited for discussion in 
your pages ; and if you will allow me, ray 
dear sir, I will furnish you with a [ew short 
papers thereon, practical, and easy of com- 
prehension. They will refer to the Collodion 
process, a branch of the Photographic art, 
decidedly the most simple, and attended with 
the least possible trouble and expense. 

Photography, I hardly need remark, is the 
art of obtaining pictures on various prepared 
substances, by the agency of light, or per- 
haps more correctly speaking, by that of the 

sun. Though the principles of the art were 
known many years ago, yet the practice of 
it made little or no advance, till simplified by 
the constant and arduous labors of Da- 
guerre, Herschel, Talbot, Hunt, Archer, and 
many others. The difficulties are now, how- 
ever, so much lessened, that very many ladies 
and gentlemen practise it as an interesting, 
scientific, and healthful amusement. 

From the multiplicity of processes now 
before the world, the intending beginner is 
often quite bewildered, and cannot tell which 
of them to turn to. To obviate this diffi- 
culty, I propose, therefore, in the pages of 
our own Journal, to give a simple and 
succinct account of the Collodion process, 
and which I have found eminently successful. 
I hope a perusal of my remarks will induce 
many to become acquainted with this fasci- 
nating art. 

Who would not be able to take a friend's 
portrait — to fix indelibly the lineaments of 
those who are dear to him ? What could be 
a more welcome present to relatives far away 
than an enclosure of such portraits ; calling to 
remembrance faces they will perhaps never 
behold or meet again, at least here below ? or 
a picture of the home of their childhood ? Oh ! 
happy, happy home, — bringing up with every 
well remembered nook, those far-off memories 
of early days,which lie buried in every human 
heart. Photography for such a purpose is 
indeed a blessing. 

A complete apparatus, and materials for the 
the Collodion process, will cost from £5 to 
£10, according to size. These prices are forthe 
smaller sets ; some,with expensive lenses, cost 
as high as £60. After the first equipment the 
expense, however, is very trifling, and as a 
very good set for a beginner may be had for 
£6, 1 would recommend that at least that 
amount be laid out in the first instance ; 
as though perhaps no letter pictures are pro- 
duced than with smaller sets, yet the general 
results are more satisfactory. Any of the 
respectable dealers in photographic materials 
(several of whom, I observe, advertise in our 
Journal), will furnish the requirements, and 
will most likely be able to shew the process 
of taking a Collodion picture. Indeed, it 
is indispensably necessary that a beginner 
should see the mode of coating the glass-plate 
with Collodion ; the dipping the plates in 
various solutions, exposing them in the cam- 
era, &c. : for the manipulation of these cannot 
be properly communicated in words. 

For the greater part of the Collodion pro- 
cess, a dark room is required ; and perhaps 
the best way of obtaining this is to stretch 
three folds of yellow calico over the window, 
which admits light enough to work by, and 
yet not of the kind to derange the process. 
As the reason of this and many other things 
immediately connected with Photography 



would involve more space and time than I 
can spare time to answer properly, I beg to 
refer all inquirers to " Hunt's Manual of 
Photography," 4th edition, a most valuable 
work, which contains a very extended history 
and account of Photography in all its 
branches. As much water is used in the 
process, a room with a sink and water-tap is 
to be preferred ; yet a pail of clean water, and 
a receptacle for the washings, will suffice 
very well. 

I give a detailed list of the apparatus, and 
materials required for the Collodion process ; 
as some may already possess several of them, 
or may prefer to purchase them singly. But 
most makers fit up various-sized sets of 
every requisite, at prices varying according 
to size and quality. 

A rigid camera, with dark cell for glass 
and- paper, frames for various sizes of plates, 

A pair of compound achromatic lenses, 
mounted in brass, with rack work adjustment 
about 2jjj inches diam., and costing, — say 
£4 4s. 

Two porcelain trays (rather wider and 
longer than the largest-sized picture the 
camera will take), one gutta percha dipping 
bath, same breadth and width as the trays, 
with dippers. 

One pair of scales, with glass or bone 
trays, one 10- oz graduated glass measure, 
one glass funnel, three 10-oz. bottles, 
ground-glass stoppered. 

Glass plates to suit the frames of the 
cr.mera. The various sizes required are 
kept in stock by many glaziers, and at all the 
photographic shops. 1 prefer patent-plate 
glass ; although flattened crown-glass suits 
very well, and is considerably cheaper. 

Chemicals : — 

Iodised Collodion 2 oz. 

Crystallised Nitrate of Silver \ oz. 

Proto- sulphate of Iron 2 oz. 

Hypo-sulphite of Soda 2 oz. 

Strong Nitric Acid \ oz. 

Sulphuric Acid \ oz. 

Liquid Ammonia \ oz. 

Acetic Acid \ oz. 

One gallon distilled Water. 

All the above (except the water) must be 
kept in glass-stoppered bottles, as some are 
volatile, whilst others absorb moisture from 
the atmosphere. They must all (but particu- 
larly the collodion and the nitrate of silver,) 
be kept away from a strong light. 

I will now give the formulas for the solu- 
tions required, which are all to be made in 
'proportion to the quantities mentioned, more or 
less, as wanted. For instance, when I say 
nitrate of silver 30 grains ; distilled water 
1 oz. , you will take, say 8 ozs. of water ; 
and of course eight-times 30 grains of silver, 
i.e. 240 grains. 

No. I. Iodised Collodion. — This is prepared by 
dissolving gun cotton in ether, which is after- 
wards iodised ; but as it is much preferable for 
beginners to buy it fresh in small quantities, as 
wanted, I will not detail the manufacture. 

No. II. The Sensitive Solution.— To distilled 
water, 1 oz., add Cryst. Nitrate of Silver, 30 

No. III. The Developing Solution. — Distilled 
Water, 10 ozs.; Proto-Sulphate of Iron, \ oz. ; 
Sulphuric Acid, 6 minims; Acetic Acid, 5 
minims. — Filter through bibulous paper. 

No. IV. The Fixing Solution. — A saturated solu- 
tion of Hypo-sulphite of Soda in filtered rain 
or river water. 

If these solutions be prepared in time for 
next month, I hope we shall then be enabled 
to take a picture together. 

One word more. Let me impress upon all 
beginners the imperative necessity for the 
most scrupulous cleanliness in manipulation. 
The least speck of dirt, or grease, on a glass 
plate, will spoil the future picture ; or a drop 
of one solution may do serious injury to 

Any questions addressed to me or. the 
subject, may be forwarded through you. I 
shall be most ready and happy to reply to 




If I were a voice, a persuasive voice, 

That could travel the wide world through, 

I'd fly on the beams of the morning light, 

And speak to men with gentle might, 
And tell them to be true. 

I'd fly, I'd fly o'er land and sea, 

Wherever a human heart might be, 

Telling a tale or singing a song, 
In the praise of the right, 

In the blame of the wrong. 

In the blame, in the blame of the wrong. 

If I were a voice, a consoling voice, 

I'd fly on the wings of' air; 
The homes of sorrow and guilt I'd seek, 
And calm and truthful words I'd speak, 

To save them from despair. 
I'd fly, I'd fly o'er crowded town, 
And drop like the happy sunlight down 
Into the hearts of suff'ring men, 
And teach them to rejoice again, 

And teach them to rejoice again. 

If I were a voice, an immortal voice, 

I'd speak in the people's ear, 
And whenever they shouted " liberty ! " 
Without deserving to be free, 

I'd make their error clear. 
I'd fly, I'd fly on the wings of day, 
Rebuking wrong on my world-wide way, 
And making all the earth rejoice, 
If I were a voice, an immortal voice, 
If I were an immortal voice. 




A little seed, at random thrown 

Upon the world, one day, 
A moment up in air was blown ; 

Then gently borne away 
Unto a desert drear and wide, 
Close by a mountain side. 

The seed lay there for many days, 

Unnoticed and alone, 
Amid those cold and rugged ways, 

By briars overgrown ; 
Yet rain from Heaven, and balmy air, 
And sunbeams cheer'd it there. 

It rooted in the solid ground, 

Put forth its stem and leaf, 
And, throwing tendrils round and round, 

It grew beyond belief ; 
And, waxing stronger every hour, 
Brought forth a lovely flower. 

It blossom 'd there so sweetly mild 
That song-birds stayed their flight, 

In wonder that the desert wild 
Produced so fair a sight ; 

The briars envying all the while 

Its perfume and its smile. 

But Winter came with storm and snow ! 

The floweret droop 'd its head ; 
And the briars dash'd it to and fro 

Until they deem'd it dead ; 
Laughing, as round them day by day 
Its scatter'd seedlets lay. 

Dismay 'd were they when Spring appeared, 
And, crowned with myriad flowers, 

Each stem in loveliness uprear'd, 
Defied theic rugged powers. 

In vain they strove ; for every Spring 

Brought forth its blossoming. 

The flowers now climb the mountain side, 

And on the summit smile ; 
Whilst o'er the plain in modest pride 

They bloom for many a mile ; 
And not one thorn now meets the view, 
Where late the briars grew. 

And thus a thought may live and grow, 

Though cast on destrt soil, 
And o'er the earth its beauty throw 

By long and patient toil ; 
Though Envy's frown will oft essay 
To take its light away. 

Yes ! it will smile and spread its flowers, 

Despite the fiercest storm ; 
And mid the tempest and the showers 

Uprear its lovely form ; 
Like many a truth which smiles serene 
Amid life's darkest scene. 

Thus breathing to the world around 
Its sweets through many a day, 

It shall adorn the humblest ground, 
And bless the loneliest way ; 

Whilst they who shunn'd the budding flower 

Shall praise it in its blooming hour. 

Edmund Teesdale. 



If we would see human nature in its 
foulest aspect, let us go any morning 
to the door of the Will Office, Doctors' 
Commons. A glance at the folk going in 
and out, lets us into a secret which they 
take little care to hide. If our pen were to 
pursue the subject, we fear we should get 
ourself into a scrape. We therefore use the 
milder language of a contemporary, called 
{i London," who lays bare sufficient to give 
an outline of the vermin that haunt this 
building. The curious can go and examine 
further for themselves. But now for the 
Will Office :— 

What business of life and death have we 
here ! The weeds of the widow jostle with 
the ribands of the bride ; expectancy going 
in, meets disappointment coming out; miserly 
greed and poverty's need cast their shadows 
on thy flags, oh, lottery house of joy and 
despair! — and the little men at thy gate, 
with great badges and white aprons, tout on 
to every face that wears gladness or sadness 
passing the portal. 

What a profound knowledge of human 
motives directs the appeals of those ticket- 
porters ! How they discriminate betwixt 
the apparel of the bridegroom and that of the 
chief mourner ! How singularly appropriate 
are their interrogations, delivered, as it 
were, in a breath ! " D'ye want a licence, 
sir ?" " Wish to search for a will, ma'am ?" 
" D'ye want a proctor?" But after all, it is 
their trade ; and that is the true secret of 
nearly every remarkable human instinct. We 
pass them by, however; for we want no cice- 
rone to direct us along a path that is worn 
deep by the pilgrimages of the votaries of 

We leave the hum of traffic in St. Paul's 
Churchyard, and penetrate the cloister-like 
interior of Doctors' Commons — passing by 
gaunt houses, that seem as discolored and 
shrivelled as the parchment documents they 
contain; with never a merry sound vibrating 
their old girders, or a strain of harmony to 
interfere with the monotonous ticking of 
the death-watch that prognosticates un- 
ceasing fatality from behind their ancient 
wainscots and worm-eaten panels. Even 
human nature, in this strange place, wears 
such a stern and rigid garb of decorum that 
it is a wonder how it exists. The aliments, 
the pleasures, and the luxuries of ordinary 
mortality, it is plain, can never interfere in 
the composition of such faces as one sees 
here, strained to a more than stoical imper- 

But we are forgetting our destination, 
which is a little doorway labelled, " The 



Prerogative Office of the Archbishop of 
CANTERBURY." A dark passage leads from 
this opening into an oblong room, lined with 
bookcases, so heavily burthened that they 
groan again under the excessive weight. 
Their contents, also, are a noticeable feature. 
These are immense volumes, vellum-bound, 
with iron rims, and massive back-bands. These 
last resemble the gnarls on an old oak, now 
that the lapse of centuries has destroyed the 
contour they bore when they left the hands 
of the cunning binders. This assemblage of 
ponderous tomes forms merely the index to 
the documentary contents of the place ; but 
it is an index such as no volume of con- 
secutive narrative could rival. Open but one 
of its fasciculi upon one of those desks that 
fill the centre of the room — open it at any 
page, at any letter ; and if you do not find 
your attention immediately riveted by its 
brief glosses, we are not a true prophet. 

Had you, then, forgotten that kings and 
conquerors, poets and orators were, after all, 
but men with a keen eye to their household 
gods, and a vulgar concern for the testamen- 
tary disposition of their property ? Why is it 
that you pause so abstractedly over the name 
of Napoleon Buonaparte ; and, again, feel 
such surprise as you note the entry that 
relates to one William Shakespeare— a 
poet who has written his name upon the 
adamantine pillar of immortality ? Are 
your ears so full of the roar of artillery, and 
your fancies so elevated amidst the pinnacles 
of poesy, that the details of mere matters of 
pounds and shillings, and old coats, and best 
and second best beds and bedding, seem to 
you but ridiculous themes to occupy the 
closing thoughts of the great general and the 
great poet ? Alas, for sentimentality ! 
These registers are its saddest enemies. 

Turning from the consideration of books — 
mark the characters by which we are sur- 
rounded. The ferret-eyed lawyer, poking 
about that case yonder, with the dexterity of 
an old practitioner ; that sombre widow, who 
for the past half-hour has been looking 
through her tears at the volume containing 
the name of the " dear departed ; " the mere 
youth, with the signs of incipient dissipation, 
rebellious against his guardian's authority, 
endeavoring to discover a pretext for open 
defiance ; that pale, attenuated man, who 
attends regularly every day, and searches 
till his fingers and his eyes ache, and then 
leaves, with a sigh, at the hour for departing ; 
that shrewd-looking fallow, who is another 
constant attendant, and who bears a family 
resemblance to Joseph Ady ; and that 
merry, smiling couple of young lovers, who 
(for shame ! in such a place) are actually car- 
rying on a flirtation over a sheepskin record. 

What searching is there here ! Never did 
miner scrutinise more laboriously the mass of 

earth supposed to contain a mineral treasure, 
than do this assemblage hunt through the 
manuscript entries of the all-important 
index. And see, — the widow has found all 
the details she needs to place her in tempo- 
rary possession of her husband's will. She 
carries the book to a gentleman seated at a 
high desk, points out the entry, pays a 
shilling, and is ushered into an adjoining 
chamber — there to await the result of another 
search, which speedily results in the produc- 
tion of the desired document. If the room 
we have just quitted was a scene of active 
excitement, the present one is its greatest 
contrast. Here, seated before two or three 
little tables, are people reading wills ; under 
the supervision of an official, whose duty it 
is to observe that none of them are muti- 
lated ; or, what is scarcely less important, 
that none are surreptitiously copied. Yet, 
we observe some strange expedients adopted 
to evade this prohibition. It is astonishing 
what a number of pencils are used for tooth- 
picks in this little sanctum ; and we would 
wager that more thumb-nails than one carry 
away, in black-lead characters, the substance 
of testaments that have apparently only been 
subjected to a hasty scan. 

It is an impressive sight to watch the 
varied emotions impressed upon the features 
of the temporary occupants, who here hold, as 
it were, communion with the dead. Here 
hopes and fears are realised ; here is consum- 
mated the triumph of revenge, that mayhap 
lingered in the heart of the dying ; here, too, 
in such strange company, sweet charity 
irradiates many a woe-begone cheek. This 
is the counting-house of Death. " 

England is a " Protestant Country ;" and 
it vaunts much of its mental superiority over 
all other countries. But only let a chance 
of getting gold appear ; and then see what a 
(so-called) Christian's heart is made of. 
Alas ! poor human nature ! 


Is it not sweet, when music's melting tone 

Falls in sweet cadence on the heart alone, 

To hear in twilight hour the echoes float 

Of pensive lyre, or clarion's wilder note ? 

Now with the whispering breeze the murmurs die, 

Now gush again in fuller melody ; 

Each wooded hill the trembling chords proloug, 

Whose bubbling waters mingle with the song. 

Fainter and fainter on the anxious ear 

Swells the rich strain — tho' distant, ever clear ; 

Till, lightly floating up the winding glen, 

Where jutting rocks reflect them back again, 

The echoes die, as when low winds inspire 

The softest cadence of ^Folian lyre. 

Scarce breathe the lips — scarce dare the bosom 

swell, — 
For now the lowest sigh would break the spell, — 
Still hopes the heart to catch one murmur more ; 
Yet hopes in vain— the sounds have died before ! 




It is only recently, my dear sir, 
that I have found leisure to peruse Kidd's 
Own Journal. In looking over the pages of 
the last number, as well as many of those 
preceding it, I find among the names of the 
numerous contributors, your old favorites, 
Bombyx Atlas, and that "jolly dog" 
Fino ; both of whom seem to be indefatigable 
in their researches and interesting anecdotes. 
Now I must aver that I am no " Bombyx," 
yet if I may be allowed to contribute occa- 
sionally to Our own Journal a few re- 
marks on divers subjects of interest, it will 
afford me considerable pleasure to do so. I 
have been induced to set about assisting the 
good work, by noticing the unceasing exer- 
tions of many of my old acquaintances and 
friends, whose names stand so prominent in 
your pages. Thus let me introduce myself 
to the readers of Our Journal. 

The subject I propose to notice to-day is 
— the Edible Chesnut ( Castanea vesca). Of 
all trees which take part in forming the 
forests and woods of Europe, perhaps none 
are more strikingly effective than this, for 
size, stature, and beauty. It is to be met 
with in all the temperate climates of Europe. 
The French call it " Le Chataignier ;" the 
Germans, " Castaniebaum ; " the Dutch, 
11 Kestenbaum " and " Kastanibaum ; " the 
Italians, " II Castagno ;" the Spaniards, " El 
Castano ; " and we call it the " Chesnut 

In England the Chesnut appears more 
confined to the woods in the south and 
south-western parts. The beautiful, long, and 
spear-shaped leaves, hanging in fine clusters 
from the branches, where they seem to form 
perfect masses of foliage at a distance, added 
to their noble stature — render them objects of 
great importance among the other trees sur- 
rounding them ; and when covered with the 
curious prickly involucres enclosing the nuts, 
the ensemble is most effective. In France 
and Germany it thrives considerably better. 
But I have never seen such magnificent speci 
mens, nor observed them growing to such 
perfection as they do in Switzerland and 
Savoy. In these countries, particularly the 
latter, the " Savoyards" make its fruit (in 
places) almost their principal article of food. 
They eat the chesnut, either raw, roasted, or 
reduced to flour. When it enters into the 
composition of their bread, sometimes there 
is added a little Indian corn. 

It is chiefly in the Canton of Tessin, in 
Switzerland, that the greatest number of 
chesnut trees abound. The trunk of the 
celebrated chesnut, at Mount iEtna, called 
the " Castagna di Cento Cavalli," is stated to 
be 180 feet in circumference, and quite 
hollow ; it is said to be able to contain 100 

horsemen, whence its Italian name. The 
wood of this tree (according to Evelyn) is, 
next to the oak, one of the most sought for 
by the carpenter and joiner. 

The finest specimen of this beautiful tree I 
have as yet seen, stands at about half an hour'? 
walk up the neighboring mountain from the 
town of Evian, in Savoy. The steamer was 
making a " promenade " on the 2nd of 
August, 1846, to Evian ; leaving passengers 
there in the morning at about 10 o'clock, and 
coming to fetch them home at about 5 p.m. 
for Geneva. I made this " promenade " from 
Geneva on the day I have just noticed, to the 
town of Evian. This place is very dirty and 
dull, as are most of the towns in Savoy. I 
went with a guide on purpose to see the 
famous chesnut tree, and passed through a 
narrow path with a broken wall on either 
side, covered with the fronds of the common 
polypody {Polypodium vulgare), which, 
being then quite matured, had a very pretty 
appearance. Presently we found ourselves 
in a forest of nothing but noble chesnut trees ; 
the foliage was so thick that the beams of 
the sun could scarcely penetrate it ; and 
the ground we were walking on was so 
slippery with Lycopodiums, Sphagnum, and 
other Musci, that it was troublesome walking. 
At last we came into a field bordered with 
these splendid trees, and at one corner stood 
the specimen I now describe. I measured 
the circumference of its trunk, and found it 
to be fifty-four feet. The trunk was perfectly 
hollow, and yet sound to all outward appear- 
ance. I entered it, and am sure it would 
shelter eight persons very comfortably. 
The height of the tree is considerable, I am 
told it is upwards of 85 feet ; spreading and 
well-shaped in proportion to its gigantic size. 
If any botanists visit Evian, I hope they will 
pay this tree a visit, and judge for themselves 
of its beauty, and the adjacent scenery. 

Aglia Tau. 

Stoke Newington, March 2nd. 

[Most proud are we of this addition to our 
staff; and we gladly hail you, Aglia Tau, 
as one of our bod}' , -guard. All that proceeds 
from your pen can hardly fail to please the 
readers of Our Own. So consider yourself 
as " enlisted " under our banner.] 


Despise not thou the wild flower. Small it seems, 
And of neglected growth, and its light bells 
Hang carelessly on every passing gale ; 
Yet it is finely wrought, and colors there 
Might shame the Tyrian purple ; and it bears 
Marks of a care eternal and divine. 
Duly the dews descend to give it food ; 
The sun revives it drooping ; every shower 
Adds to its beauty ; and the airs of Heaven 
Are round it for delight. 





What is that, mother ? The lark, my child ! 
The moru has but just looked out, and smiled, 
When he starts from his humble grassy nest, 
And is up and away, with the dew on his breast 
And a hymn in his heart, to yon pure, bright 

To warble it out in his Maker's ear- 
Ever, my child, be thy morn's first lays 
Tuned, like the lark's, to thy Maker's praise ! 

What is that, mother? The dove, my son ! 
And that low, sweet voice, like a widow's moan, 
Is flowing out from her gentle breast, 
Constant and pure, by that lonely nest, 
As the wave is poured from some crystal urn, 
For distant dear one's quick return. 
Ever, my son, be thou like the dove, 
In friendship as faithful — as constant in love ! 

What is that, mother? The eagle, boy ! 
Proudly careering his course of joy ; 
Firm, on his mountain vigor relying, 
Breasting the dark storm, the red bolt defying. 
His wing on the wind, and his eye on the sun, 
He swerves not a hair, but bears onward, right on. 
Boy ! may the eagle's flight ever be thine — 
Onward, and upward, and true to the line ! 

What is that, mother? The swan, my love ! 
He is floating down from his native grove ; 
No loved- one now, no nestling nigh, 
He is floating down, by himself to die. 
Death darkens his eye, and unplumes his 'wings, 
Yet his sweetest song is the last he sings. 
Live so, my love, that when death shall come, 
Swan-like and sweet, it may waft thee " home!" 


The whole world so rejoices in the out- 
pourings of Fanny Fern's joyous spirit, 
and so thoroughly relishes the " palpable 
hits" she gives to certain people in fashion- 
able (i.e. unfeeling) life, that we offer no 
excuse for transferring three of her short 
chapters to our columns. 

The first, " Little Mabel," is a tale of every- 
day life, and has its counterpart in nearly 
every fashionable street. The second, 
" Mistaken Philanthropy," is also a sketch 
from life ; and so is the third, — "" Owls kill 


Little Mabel had no mother. She was 
slight, and sweet, and fragile, like her type, 
— the lily of the valley. Her little hand, as 
you took it in yours, seemed almost to melt 
in your clasp. She had large dark eyes, 
whose depths, with all your searching, you 
might fail to fathom. Her cheek was very 
pale, save when some powerful emotion lent 
it a passing flush ; her fair open brow might 
have defied an angel's scrutiny ; her little 
footfall was noiseless as a falling snow-flake ; 

and her voice was sweet and low as the last 
note of the bird ere it folds its head under 
its wing for nightly slumber. 

The house in which Mabel lived was large 
and splendid. You would have hesitated to 
crush with your foot the bright flowers on 
the thick rich carpet. The rare old pictures 
on the walls were marred by no envious 
cross-lights. Light and shade were artisti- 
cally disposed. Beautiful statues, which the 
sculptor, dream-inspired, had risen from a 
feverish couch to finish, lay bathed in the 
rosy light which streamed through the silken 
curtains. Obsequious servants glided in and 
out, as if taught by instinct to divine the 
unspoken wants of their mistress. 

I said the little Mabel had no mother; and 
yet there was a lady, fair and bright, of whose 
beautiful lip, and large dark eyes, and grace- 
ful limbs, little Mabel's were the mimic 
counterpart. Poets, artists, and sculptors 
had sung, and sketched, and modelled her 
charms. Nature had been most prodigal of 
adornment. There was only one little thing 
she had forgotten — the Lady Mabel had no 

Not that she forgot to deck little Mabel's 
limbs with costliest fabrics of most unique 
fashioning ; not that every shining ringlet on 
that graceful little head was not arranged by 
Mademoiselle Jennet, in strict obedience to 
orders ; not that a large nursery was not 
fitted up luxuriously at the top of the house, 
filled with toys, which its little owner never 
cared to look at ; not that the Lady Mabel's 
silken robe did not sweep, once a week, with 
a queenly grace through the apartment, to 
see if the mimic wardrobe provided for its 
little mistress fitted becomingly, or needed 
replenishing, or was kept in order by the 
smart French maid. Still, as I said before, 
the little Mabel had no mother ! 

See her, as she stands there by the nursery- 
window, crushing her bright ringlets in the 
palm of her tiny hand. Her large eyes glow ; 
her cheek flushes, then pales ; now the little 
breast heaves ; for the gorgeous west is one 
sea of molten gold. Each bright tint thrills 
her with strange rapture. She almost holds 
her breath as they deepen, then fade and die 
away. And now the last bright beam dis- 
appears behind the hills, and the soft grey 
twilight comes creeping on. Amid its deep- 
ening shadows, one bright star springs sud- 
denly to its place in the Heavens. Little 
Mabel cannot tell why the warm tears are 
coursing down her sweet face ; or why her 
limbs tremble, and her heart beats so fast ; 
or why she dreads lest the shrill voice of 
Mademoiselle Jennet should break the spell. 
She longs to soar, like a bird, or a bright 
angel. She had a nurse once, who told her 
" there was a God." She wants to know if 
He holds that bright star in its place. »She 



wants to know if Heaven is a long way off, 
and if she shall ever be a bright angel ; and 
she would like to say a little prayer, her 
heart is so full, if she only knew how ; but, 
poor sweet little Mabel, she has no mother! 
[Alas ! Fanny, your remarks — noble though 
they be — will avail little in England. Our 
children are habitually brought up as 
heathens ; or made hypocrites of, from their 
very cradle, — their own parents setting the 
example ! The innocence of childhood, in 
which you and ourself so greatly rejoice, is 
by the world ridiculed. Children are taught 
deception by their nurses, ere they can yet 
speak. Fear performs the natural part of 
Love ; and the child's quick perceptions soon 
imbibe the conventional deceits of life. The 
world is cold, hollow, heartless. A child per- 
mitted to say a prayer, or talk of Heaven ; — 
monstrous absurdity ! Blessed innocents ! 
A higher care is bestowed on ye. The Great 
God has ye in his safe keeping ; and often 
removes ye mercifully to a better world, ere 
sin has defiled your infant minds!] 

" Don't moralise to a man on his back; help him up, 
set him firmly on his feet, and then give him advice and 

There's an old-fashioned, verdant piece of 
wisdom for you ; altogether unsuited for the 
enlightened age we live in ; fished up pro- 
bably from some musty old newspaper, edited 
by some eccentric man troubled with that 
inconvenient appendage called a heart ! 
Don't pay any attention to it. If a poor 
wretch — male or female — comes to you for 
charity, whether allied to you by your own 
mother, or mother Eve, put on the most 
stoical " get-thee-behind-me " expression you 
can muster. Listen to him with the air of a 
man who " thanks God he is not as other men 
are." If the story carry conviction with it, 
and truth and sorrow go hand in hand, button 
your coat up tighter over your pocket-book, 
and give him a piece of — good advice ! If 
you know anything about him, try to rake 
up some imprudence or mistake he may have 
made in the course of his life, and bring that 
up as a reason why you can't give him any- 
thing more substantial ; and tell him that his 
present condition is probably a salutary dis- 
cipline for those same peccadilloes ! — ask him 
more questions than there are in the As- 
sembly's Catechism about his private history ; 
and when you've pumped him high and dry, 
try to teach him — on an empty stomach — 
the "duty of submission." If the tear of 
wounded sensibility begins to flood the eye, 
and a hopeless look of discouragement settles 
down upon the face, " wish him well," and 
turn your back upon him as quick as possible. 
Should you at any time be seized with an 
unexpected spasm of generosity, and make 
up your mind to bestow some worn-out old 

garment, that will hardly hold together till 
the recipient gets it home, you've bought 
him, body and soul, of course, and are 
entitled to the gratitude of a lifetime ! If he 
ever presumes to think differently from you 
after that, he is an " ungrateful wretch," and 
" ought to suffer." As to the " golden rule," 
that was made in old times ; everything is 
changed now, it is not suited to our meridian. 

People should not get poor ; if they do, 
you don't want to be bothered with it. It is 
disagreeable ; it hinders your digestion. You 
would rather see Dives than Lazarus ; and 
it is my opinion your taste will be gratified 
in that particular. 

[Very little doubt of that, dear Fanny !] 


" We are not to suppose that the oak wants stability 
because its light and changeable leaves dance to the music 
of the breeze ; nor are we to conclude that a man wants 
solidity and strength of mind because he may exhibit an 
occasional playfulness and levity." 

No, indeed ! So, if you have the bump of 
mirthfulness developed, don't marry a tomb- 
stone. You come skipping into the parlor, 
with your heart as light as a feather, and 
your brain full of merry fancies. There he 
sits ! stupid, solemn, and forbidding. 

You go up and lay your hand on his arm ; 
he's magnetised completely, and looks in 
your face with the same expression he'd wear 
if contemplating his ledger. 

You turn away and take up a newspaper. 
There's a witty paragraph ; your first impulse 
is to read it aloud to him. No use ! He 
wouldn't see through it till the middle of next 
week. Well, as a sort of escape-valve to 
your ennui, you sit down to the piano and 
dash off a waltz ; he interrupts you with a 
request for a dirge. 

Your little child comes in, — Heaven bless 
her ! — and utters some one of those innocent 
prettinesses which are always dropping like 
pearls from children's mouths. You look to 
see him catch her up and give her a smother- 
ing kiss. Not he! He's too dignified! 

Altogether, he's about as genial as the 
north side of a meeting-house. And so you 
go plodding through life with him to the 
dead-march of his own leaden thoughts. You 
revel in the sunbeams ; he likes the shadows. 
You are on the hill-tops ; he is in the plains. 
Had the world been made to his order, earth, 
sea, and sky would have been one universal 
pall — not a green thing in it except himself! 
No vine would " cling," no breeze "dally," 
no zephyr " woo.'' Flowers and children, 
women and squirrels, would never have 
existed. The sun would have been quenched 
out for being too mercurial, and we should 
have crept through life by the light of the 
pale cold moon ! 

No — no — make no such shipwreck of your- 
self. Marry a man who is not too ascetic to 



enjoy a good merry laugh. Owls kill 
humming-birds ! 

[Oh, Fanny ! What would we give for a 
week's ramble with thee ! We would never 
again resume the editorial pen, — never !] 


Oh, would some cottage home were mine, 

How blest the hours would glide ! 
Life then would seem a thing divine 

With thee, Sweet, by my side : — 
With not a wish but thee to bless, 

Where'er thy steps might move, 
My only care thy happiness — 

My only wealth — thy love ! 

I'd think no roses sweeter born 

Than on thy cheeks I view ; 
I'd ask not for more Heavenly morn 

Than thy dear eyes of blue : 
No bird that sings this world below 

I'd think could thee eclipse ; 
For all that's sweet, is doubly so 

When coming from thy lips. 

True wealth is in the heart alone, 

Its coin like music rings : 
It cometh from a brighter throne 

Than any earthly king's ! 
We're poor — but we could live on less, 

And still some comfort win ; 
When true Love shares one's humbleness 

An Angel dwells therein ! 

C. Swain. 



The Vine-mountains in Hungary, 
besides the precious harvest they yield, 
greatly tend to the completion of the general 
scenery, sharply outlined in the long, lofty 
mountain-ranges, contrasted with the no less 
imposing character of the boundless plains 
which, extending along the shores of the 
Danube, the Theiss, and the Maros, now 
present a black soil, — yielding rich crops 
without any stimulus of manure ; then barren 
steppes, covered over with quicksands. The 
noblest of wines — the tokay, flows from the 
bosom of the southern Carpathian mountain- 

Vine-hills of an inferior quality, called 
Ermeleck, arise in defiance of the sandy 
plains of Debreczin ; while a superior sort of 
grapes, called the badacson, though not to be 
compared to the menes of the Arad county, 
cover the hills of Szalad, spreading their 
odorousness to the deep oaky Bakony wood, 
the happy home of the swine. The vine, in 
short, flourishes in every part of the country; 
including the barren soil of Croatia, and the 
base of the snowy mountains of Transylvania. 
Some of these bounteous hills yield, in ex- 

ception to the general rule, a red liquid. 
The best of the red wines flows from the 
mountains of Bada and Erlau — there most 
blood was shed in former days. A strange 
sort of industrial occupation is the vintage 
in Hungary ! As different from what is 
called in Britain, industry, as is the fresh 
look of the vine-dresser from the ghastly 
face of a factory workman. A very small 
portion of this vast quantity of wine passes 
into other hands for money — few cultivate 
it for the sake of sale ; and there is scarcely 
a single nobleman of moderate fortune, if not 
possessed of vast vineyards, who, in this 
occupation, ever rises to that pitch of mental 
speculation where capital and interest sit in 
judgment over the doings of man. In 
Hungary, the vintage is the bearer only of 
concord and of joy. The days of this fes- 
tivity generally commence at the beginning 
of September, and continue till the last days 
of October, when frosty weather is ushered 

The circumstance of the vineyards being, 
for the most part, at considerable distances 
from the residences of their owners, serves 
much to increase the bustle, activity, and 
ceremonies inaugurating this annual festival. 
A day or two before the landlord himself, and 
family, depart for the scene of action, are 
sent the carriages, laden with the necessary 
tubs, casks, and butts ; these are simulta- 
neously, from all directions of the same neigh- 
borhood, set in motion. They move on at 
a slow pace, in solemn procession, amid the 
peculiar strain of music arising from the 
knocking on each other of the empty vessels 
huddled together by the arbitrary will of 
man — a music which is much encouraged 
by the capriciousness of the roads. The 
carrying of these significant types is gen- 
erally intrusted to the meek, slow-paced 
oxen ; a caution rendered the more necessary, 
as among or within these wooden utensils 
are packed the earthen, and no less impor- 
tant, cooking instruments — the guardianship 
of which is always delegated to the cookmaid, 
the most conspicuous figure in the van. 

With a clean white kerchief covering her 
long back, the cook takes her seat in the 
centre of the carriage ; holding in her hands 
a fryingpan or a ladle, of primary impor- 
tance as the insignia of her power. W T hile 
the van is thus moving on, the master 
of the feast in the meantime awaits the 
arrival of the friends he has invited ; 
then briskly follows, either the same day or 
the day after, though always stopping on 
the road in quest of new guests. Arriving 
at the spot, he finds in the little cottage at 
the foot of the vineyard, and consisting of 
two or three small apartments, everything in 
order; and the large oblong table covered. 
At daybreak after his arrival the work begins. 



The nodding branches easily part with their 
tender stem by the gentle touch of the vine- 
reaper, equally refreshing himself by the 
flavor and substance of the grape; while 
the master and guest do their best to di- 
minish the quantity of the new wine, by a 
slow and incessant process of consumption of 
what seems most attractive either to the eye 
or palate. 

The charms of such days being too strong 
to allow of long early dinners, the chief meal 
generally takes place at sunset ; and the 
usual dishes, as roast mutton, fowl, and 
peculiar meats and puddings, are washed 
down by aid of the cup overbrimming with 
the old in the presence of the yet slighted new 
wine — the countenance of the lord of the feast 
radiant with joy in proportion to the number 
of guests he has been able to gather ; the 
ringing of the glasses begins imperceptibly to 
mingle with the sounds of songs, in which all 
the males and females soon heartily join, 
and every vineyard lying near each other 
seems thus to be the abode of unmingled joy. 
AVe say seems, because over the wildest 
outburst of Hungarian conviviality there al- 
ways hovers a tinge of gloom, the invisible 
monitor of national grief. This was the 
last vintage or national rejoicing in Hun- 
gary. With the lapse of less than twelve 
months, the gallows marked the way from 
one vineyard to the other, and the guests of 
the vintage were mostly hunted Hungarians in 

Ever since that year, these abodes, made 
by nature for the rejoicings of men, are in- 
fested by hosts of foreign gens-d'arme and 
spies, which render social life a burden. 






When a shade is on the wood, 
Where the nightingale is singing ; 
And echoes roll along the flood, 
From the vesper bell slow-swinging, — 
Meet me in the primrose dell. 

When the wind goes whispering by, 
Stealing fragrance from the rose; 
When the moon climbs up the sky, 
And the blackbird seeks repose, — 
Meet me in the primrose dell. 

When the bells of flowers are folding, 
Bowed by dews which on them rest ; 
While the stars are up and holding 
Converse on the night's blue breast ; — 
Meet me in the primrose dell. 

When the leaves sleep on the hill, 
Where the new T hay smelleth sweet; 
And all around us is so still 
We can hear our fond hearts beat, — 
Meet me in the primrose dell. 

It is very doubtful whether any special 
law can ever be obtained to determine the 
exact amount of food required to maintain 
in health and strength man, woman, or child, 
— under similar conditions of employment, 
lodging, and clothing ; since, owing to certain 
individual peculiarities, both physical and 
mental, belonging to each one — peculiarities 
which we describe as constitution, stamina, 
temperament, &c, — a given diet will in one 
case be ample, and in another insufficient. 
It is therefore impossible to adjust a scale to 
meet each case. All that can be done, is to 
carefully determine the average amount of 
nutritive matter requisite to maintain men in 
health and strength under various circum- 
stances of age and employment ; and to 
apportion their food on this basis. 

When, however, we bring our scientific 
knowledge to bear upon this subject, we 
quickly find ourselves at fault for want of 
the primary elements on which to found our 
calculations ; since, as Dr. Lyon Playfair has 
justly remarked, in his observations on this 
subject, at the Royal Institution : " If the 
question were asked — How much carbon 
should an adult man consume daily ? we 
have scarcely more than one reply on which 
we can place reliance ; viz., that the guards 
of the Duke of Darmstadt eat about eleven 
ounces of carbon daily in their rations." 
This is something, but it does not help us 
greatly. If we take another step and inquire 
— How much of those substances, out of 
which the flesh and sinews are made, is 
requisite to support an adult man in good 
condition ? we can obtain no positive answer. 
Even as respects the relation between the 
carbon in this latter class of substances, 
which may be conveniently designated asjlesh- 
formers, and the alimentary matters which, 
being consumed wholly in the lungs, may be 
termed heat-givers — we have yet no reliable 
information ; the inferences on these points 
deduced from the composition of flour, being 
theoretical, not experimental. 

The truth of the matter is, that, in spite of 
the efforts made by the separate and united 
researches of chemists and physiologists, we 
cannot as yet grapple satisfactorily with the 
subject of nutrition. For example, we know 
that from the albumen of the egg (white of 
egg), are formed feathers, claws, mem- 
branes, cells, blood -corpuscles, nerves, &c. ; 
but of the processes, changes, transformations, 
and, above all, the causes which bring about 
these modifications, Ave may safely affirm we 
know nothing. With an absence of the 
knowledge of first principles, and possessing 
but rude and unsatisfactory data to guide us, 



we cannot do better than have recourse to 
experience; since science may here, as in 
many other problems it has successfully 
done, evolve from the practical experience 
of mankind the causes of many unexplained 
phenomena. These considerations induced 
Dr. Lyon Playfair to have recourse to the 
statistics of diet procurable from the various 
public establishments of the kingdom, as well 
as other sources ; since these dietaries are the 
result of careful observation and prolonged 
experience of the amount of food of known 
weight, quality, and description, found to be 
requisite for the support of man under every 
circumstance of age, condition, and employ- 
ment ; and he has endeavored, by analysing 
that experience, to acquire an insight into 
the processes of nutrition, under given con- 
ditions of life, otherwise unattainable in the 
present state of our knowledge. To do this, 
however, is no slight task ; and the result of 
much labor makes but a sorry show. For 
instance, to gain the result afforded by our 
pauper dietaries, 542 unions were applied to ; 
700 explanatory letters were written to them ; 
and 54,564 calculations, including the ad- 
ditions, had to be made, in order to educe 
results which occupy but a single line in a 
dietary table. 

There is • no longer any question of the 
heat of the body being due to the combustion 
of the unazotised ingredients of food; the 
butter, starch, fat, &c, which we eat, being 
just as truly burnt as if they had been thrown 
into the fire, or used for candles. A man 
annually inspires about seven hundredweight 
of oxygen; one-fifth of which, we may say, 
combines with, that is, burns a portion of his 
body, and produces heat ; and were it not 
for the introduction of fresh fuel, or, in other 
words, food, the whole of the carbon in the 
blood would be consumed in about three 
days. The amount of food required depends 
on the number of respirations, the rapidity 
of the pulsations, and the capacity of the 
lungs. Cold increases the amount of oxygen 
inspired by a man, whilst heat diminishes it. 
We see the influence of temperature on the 
amount of food required by the inhabitants 
of the Arctic Regions, and of the Tropics, re- 
spectively ; thus, an Esquimaux consumes 
weekly about 250 ounces of azotised ingre- 
dients (flesh, &c), and 1280 ounces of un- 
azotised substances (fat, oil, &c), containing 
no less than 1125 ounces of carbon; a 
prisoner at hard labor in Bengal consumes 
but 28 ounces of azotised food, and 192 of 
non -azotised, containing 91 ounces of carbon. 
The case of the Esquimaux may be an ex- 
treme one, and the anomaly is often met 
with of the natives of the Tropics showing a 
predilection for fatty food, which most 
abounds in carbon; still the differences in 
the quantities consumed are enormous. 

More than a century ago, Beccaria pointed 
out the nature of the second great division 
of articles of food, viz., those resembling, or 
actually being, flesh ; and asked, " Is it not 
true, that we are composed of the very sub- 
stances which serve for our nourishment?" 
A simple view, which now meets with general 
belief; for the albumen, glutpn, casein, &c, 
are now recognised as the sole flesh-formers ; 
whether the immediate source of these proxi- 
mate constituents of flesh and sinew be in- 
direct, from the flesh of the animal, or direct 
from the azotised constituents of the vege- 
table food. The graminivorous animal is but 
a granary for the carnivorous, and for f-uch 
as man, feeding indifferently on vegetables 
or flesh. The flesh-forming principles of the 
corn, grasses, and roots, eaten by the first, 
are deposited during the process of nutrition, 
as flesh, sinew, &c. ; this deposition accu- 
mulates with the growth of the animal, and 
is, when eaten, directly assimilated by man, 
and those animals which feed on flesh. 

The mere weight of food eaten is no 
criterion of its nutritive value, either as a 
flesh-former, or heat-giver; thus, whether 
a sailor, R.N., is fed on fresh or on salt 
meat, the weight varies very slightly, being 
302 ounces of fresh meat diet to 290 of the 
latter per week ; but, with the former, he 
obtains less than 35 ounces of flesh-formers, 
and 70^ ounces of heat-givers, whilst the salt 
dietary gives him nearly 41 ounces of flesh- 
formers, and 87^ ounces of heat-givers ; a 
difference in the nutritive values of dietaries 
of similar weights, which pervades the tables 
Dr. Playfair has constructed. 

Practice, as exemplified in a comparison of 
various public dietaries, shows considerable 
differences in the nutritive value of the food 
consumed by the adult, the aged, and the 
young. Our soldiers and sailors — types of 
healthy, adult men, consume about 35 ounces 
of flesh-formers, to 72 ounces of heat -givers per 
week; the ratio of the carbon contained in them 
being as 1 in the first, to 3 in the second. Aged 
men require less flesh-formers, 25 to 30 
ounces, and more heat-givers, 72 to 78 ounces; 
the respective ratios of the carbon being as 
1 to 5 in this case; whilst with boys of ten 
to twelve years old, the amount of flesh- 
formers given is about half that of the adult, 
17 ounces, the heat givers being 58 ounces — 
the ratios of the carbons being nearly 1 to 5^. 
Warmth and protection from the weather 
diminish the necessity for food ; exposure 
and hard labor increase it ; and, bearing these 
conditions in mind, Dr. Playfair's table of 
dietaries is a painful one. The average value 
of the pauper diet of all the English counties 
in 1851, was 22 ounces weekly of flesh- 
makers, and 58 ounces of heat-givers ; that 
of prisoners in England, sentenced to hard- 
labor for more than four months, 20£ ounces 



of flesh-formers, and 73^ ounces of heat- 
givers ; whilst that of the Dorsetshire agri- 
cultural laborer is given as 20J ounces of the 
flesh-formers, and 51| ounces of heat givers. 
The Gloucestershire peasant is better off, 
his diet being superior in nutritive value to 
that of the Greenwich pensioner. The City 
Workhouse, Edinburgh, enjoys the unenviable 
position of issuing the lowest of above forty 
public diet-tables in different countries, it 
containing but 13*30 ounces of flesh-formers, 
and 31£ ounces of heat-givers — the latter 
being about one-half only of the quantity 
which even the Hindoo cultivator in Dhar- 
war, Bombay, is able to procure ! 

From the quantity of these flesh-formers 
in food, we may gather some idea of the rate 
of change which takes place in the body. 
Now, a man whose weight is 140 pounds, has 
about 4 pounds of flesh in his blood, 27J 
pounds in his muscular substance, &c, and 
5 pounds of a material analogous to flesh 
in his bones. A soldier or sailor eats these 
37 pounds in about eighteen weeks ; so that 
this period might represent the time required 
to change and replace all the tissues of the 
body, if all changed with equal rapidity, 
which, however, is improbable. 



To reason well, is not so easy a matter 
as it is supposed to be. For one reasoner, 
we have one thousand cavillers, and disputers 
about terms — words positively wasted in 
idle nonsense. Apropos of this subject, are 
a few brief remarks in our excellent contem- 
porary The Critic. They are so much in unison 
with our own sentiments, that we gladly 
give them a place in a journal devoted 
to " thought." We are not quite sure, says 
our contemporary, that reasoning is an art. 
It is not a mechanical process at all. It is 
an act of the mind ; by which it advances ir- 
resistibly from certain things known, to infer 
other things unknown to it. This process 
and its results we cannot prevent or control. 
We may close our eyes to them ; we may 
try not to recognise a conclusion that is in- 
convenient ; but the mind is not the less 
conscious of it — and this consciousness it is 
that makes persons, who doubt anything 
they want to believe, so fiercely to persecute 
those who make them uncomfortable by op- 
posing the belief which they profess. No 
man who is confident in the conclusions of 
his owm mind, and who thoroughly believes 
because he is truly convinced, was ever yet 
a persecutor, or desirous of preventing op- 
ponents from being heard. Convinced that 
he holdsthe truth, he never avoids discussion; 
knowing that the more it is investigated the 
more manifest will that truth became. 


Hear our tiny voices, hear! 

Lower than the night-wind's sighs ; 
'Tis we that to the sleeper's ear 

Sing dreams of Heaven's melodies! 
Listen to the songs of flow'rs — 
What music is there like to ours ? 

Look on our beauty — we were born 

On a rainbow's dewy breast, 
Then cradled by the moon or morn, 

Or that sweet light that loves the West! 
Look upon the face of flow'rs — 
What beauty is there like to ours ? 

You think us happy while we bloom, 
So lovely to your mortal eye ; — 

But we have hearts, and there's a tomb 
Where ev'n a flow'ret's peace may lie ! 

Listen to the songs of flow'rs — 

What melody is like to ours ? 

Hear our tiny voices, hear! 

Lower than the night-wind's sighs, — 
'Tis we that to the sleeper's ear 

Sing dreams of Heaven's melodies! 
Listen to the songs of flow'rs — 
What melody is like to ours ? 



In a book recently published, en- 
titled " A Month in England, " the author, 
H. T. Tuckerman (an American), makes 
one or two singular observations. Being 
correct as singular, we transplant them to 
our columns. First let us listen to his ana- 
lysis of 


I realised, when housed in London, " why" 
it was a city so favorable to brain-work. 
The exciting transitions of temperature, 
which keep Transatlantic nerves on the 
stretch, are seldom experienced in that humid 
atmosphere. The prevalence of clouds is 
favorable to abstraction. The reserve and 
individuality of English life, surrounded but 
never invaded by the multitude, gives singu- 
lar intensity to reflection. Baffled without, 
we naturally seek excitement within. The 
electric current of thought and emotion 
flashes more readily because it is thus com- 
pressed. The spectacle of concentrated 
human life and its daily panorama incites 
the creative powers. 

We are not often won to vagrant moods 
by those alluring breezes that steal in at our 
casement at Rome, or tempted to stroll away 
from book and pen by the cheerful groups that 
enliven the sunny Boulevards ; and therefore, 
according to the inevitable law of compensa- 
tion, we build castles in the air in self-defence, 
and work veins of argument, or seek pearls 
of expression, wirh rare patience, beneath 
the smoky canopy and amid the ceaseless 



hubbub of London. Accordingly, there is 
hardly a street that is not associated with an 
author. Their very names are redolent of 
pencraft ; and how delightful to wander 
through them, unconscious of the heartless 
throng, oblivious of the stranger's lot, with 
the heart filled by the endeared images of 
these intellectual benefactors ! The disguised 
caliphs enjoyed no higher pastime. Aladdin's 
lamp transmuted not vulgar objects into a 
more golden substance. We luxuriate in 
the choicest society, without the drawback 
of etiquette ; we revive the dreams of youth 
while in the very bustle of the world. We 
practically realise what a kingdom the mind 
is, without any technical aid." 

We are not disposed to differ from the 
author in his calculations on the effects pro- 
duced by our odd climate on the human 
brain. No doubt he is right. So also is he 
in the subjoined extract on 


Nature herself has abridged the artistic 
development of England. Her climate is 
unfavorable to ideal achievement, and to 
that elemental harmony between atmosphere, 
light, and temperature, and the purposes 
and effects of the artist, which render Italy 
and Greece a paradise in comparison. A 
dome or a column should paint itself against 
a densely blue sky, to be truly effective. A 
cadenza should ring through such a crystal 
air as hangs over Naples or Mexico, to 
reveal its sweetest melody ; and color, to be 
transparent and vivid, must be studied where 
the purple evening mantles with radiant hues 
the Adriatic Sea. Marble grows black, and 
bronze corrodes, in England, when exposed 
to air. 

How like a fossil coal looks Canning's 
form ; and what a sooty hue invests Nelson, 
as the metal and the stone have become 
superficially decomposed by moisture ! 
Half the time, we must shiver instead of 
being cheered at the sight and sound of a 
fountain ; and walking round St. Paul's the 
walls look as if snow and soot had alternately 
drifted against them — especially the latter. 
The chiaroscuro made by smoke, gas, and 
drizzle, do not promote a desirable relievo in 
objects architectural or statuesque. The 
absence of the sun, keeps invisible the more 
delicate touches of Leonardo and the finer 
tints of Claude on the noble's wall ; and even 
the daguerreotypist must watch, like the fog- 
shrouded navigator on the banks, for days 
before he can " get the sun." In such a 
climate, great thinkers and indefatigable arti- 
sans prosper. 

But Art must be aided by pilgrimages to 
clearer horizons ; and to latitudes where the 
firmament is oftener visible. At home, it 
will inevitably require the hotbed of munifi- 
cent patronage." 

These sensible remarks by a foreigner, are 
worthy attentive perusal ; nor will Mr.Tucker- 
man's book fail to suggest many other "ma- 
terials for thinking. " 



My heart has yearned like other hearts, 
With all the fervor Youth imparts; 
And all the warmth that Feeling lends 
Has freely cherished "troops of friends." 
A change has passed o'er them and me, 
We are not as we used to be : 
My heart, like many, another heart, 
Sees Old Companions all depart. 

I mark the names of more than one, 
But read them on the cold white stone ; 
And steps that followed where mine led, 
Now on the far-off desert tread; 
The world has warped some souls away, 
That once were honest as the day ; 
Some dead, some wandering, some untrue ; 
Oh ! Old Companions are but few ! 

But there are green trees on the rill, 
And green flags sweeping o'er the hill ; 
And there are daisies peeping out. 
And dog-rose blossoms round about. 
Ye were my friends, " long, long ago," 
The first bright friends I sought to know; 
And yet ye come — rove where I will, 
My Old Companions — faithful still. 

And there are sunbeams rich and fair, 
As cheering as they ever were : 
And there are fresh winds playing nigh, 
As freely as in time gone by ; 
The birds come singing as of yore, 
The waves yet ripple to the shore ; 
Howe'er I feel, where'er I range, 
These Old Companions never change. 

I'm glad I learnt to love the things 
That Fortune neither takes nor brings : 
I'm glad my spirit learned to prize 
The smiling face of sunny skies ; 
'Twas well I clasp'd with doating hand 
The balmy wild flowers of the land ; 
For still ye live in friendship sure, 
My Old Companions, bright and pure. 

Though strong may be the ties we make, 
The strongest mortal tie may break ; 
Though warm the lips that love us now, 
They may perchance forswear the vow; 
We see pale Death and envious Hate 
Fling shadows on the dial-plate; 
Noting the hours when dark sands glide, 
And Old Companions leave our side. 

But be we sad, or be we gay, 

With thick curls bright, or thin locks grey, 

We never find the Spring bloom meet 

Our presence with a smile less sweet. 

Oh ! I am glad I learnt to love 

The tangled wood and cooing dove 

For these will be in good or ill 

My Old Companions, — changeless still ! 





Say,— where full instinct is the unerring guide, 
What hope or council can they want beside ? 



IN plants from the pages 
of Dr. Kemp. We are so 
very much pleased with 
the same author's remarks 
on Bees, that, as those little 
winged messengers of active industry are 
just now peeping out to reconnoitre, we will 
borrow a few more interesting particulars 
about the Queen -bee and the instinct per- 
ceivable in the working-bees. 


The instinctive movements of bees, in relation 
to one another and to their posterity, are almost 
incredible ; but the evidence of such is un- 
questionable. Foremost amongst them, are the 
proceedings of the queen-mother. Two queens 
cannot exist in the same hive; and if a couple of 
them chance to do so, either from a stranger 
queen coming in, or a young one being hatched, 
a battle is immediately fought; in which one is 
sure to perish. In the former case, i.e., when a 
stranger queen is introduced into a hive that 
already contains one, an extraordinary scene takes 
place. A circle of bees instinctly crowd around 
the invader, not, however, to attack her — for a 
worker never assaults a queen — but to respectfully 
prevent her escape, in order that a combat may 
take place between her and their reigning 
monarch ! The lawful possessor then advances 
towards the part of the comb where the invader 
has established herself, the attendant workers 
clear a space for the encounter, and, without inter- 
fering, wait the result. A fearful encounter then 
ensues, in which one is stung to death ; the survivor 
mounting the throne. Although the workers of 
a de facto monarch will not fight for her defence, 
yet, if they perceive a strange queen attempting to 
enter the hive, they will surround her, and hold her 
until she is starved to death ; but such is their 
respect for royalty that they never attempt to 
sting her ! 

If the hive lose their queen, strange proceedings 
take place as the young queen assumes the perfect 
or imago state. The first one that becomes thus 
developed almost immediately proceeds to the royal 
cells, and darts upon the first that she espies. 
She gnaws a hole in it, through which she inserts 
her sting, and thereby destroys her embryo rivals. 
A number of workers accompany her, but do not 
venture to offer any opposition to her violence ; and 
indeed, after the murder is committed, they 
enlarge the breach and extract the dead body. 

It sometimes happens that two young queens 
attain perfection at the same time; and in such 
a case, they afford indication of another and 
very peculiar instinct. At first the instinct of 
fighting prevails, and they dart upon one another 
with a fury that seems to threaten death to 
both ; and head is opposed to head, and sting to 

sting. But the moment that they come into 
this position, a sudden panic seizes them, and 
both fly. They soon return, and the same scene 
is repeated over and over again ; until one young 
queen in the advance seizes the other by the 
wing, and then inflicts a mortal wound. By 
this instinct the two do not perish ; and thus 
the hive is prevented from wanting a queen. 
All this is performed before they are perhaps five 
minutes old ! 

The workers, however, do often prevent the 
queen from attacking and destroying the royal 
grubs; but this is only before she has come out 
of her cell and assumed authority. They keep 
her confined until she is perfectly able to lead a 
swarm ; and even when they do let her out, they 
hinder her from destroying her immature royal 
sister, a proceeding she is much bent upon. She 
then becomes violently agitated, and inclined to 
lead a swarm, the members of which follow her. 
This proceeding only takes place in full hives ; 
and when the hive is thin in numbers, and it is 
not desirable to send out new colonies, the workers 
let the queens destroy one another, as before 

If the queen die, or be removed from a hive, the 
population do not appear to discern their loss for 
about an hour. At the expiration of this time, a 
degree of restlessness begins to manifest itself; 
the bees run to and fro, and those that first begin 
to do so, strike the others with their antennae, 
and apparently communicate the news and dis- 
order. All soon becomes in a very confused state, 
work is neglected, and the bees continually pass 
in and out of the hive. The tumult lasts for some 
hours, after which the bees become quiet, and 
proceed to fill some of the cells with jelly, and, as 
before mentioned, rear up neuter larva? into 
queens. If, however, the queen be restored to 
them, their joy is excessive, and manifested, 

Another remarkable fact connected with the 
instincts of the bees is, that the queen some 
times, apparently from disease, becomes incapable 
of laying eggs that will turn out workers; all the 
eggs that she does lay hatching into drones. 
When this is the case, she loses the propensity to 
attack other queens : in this manner the com- 
munity is not suffered to die out, for want of new 
laborers ; and yet her subjects in no degree 
diminish their respect to her. 

The drones are, in ordinary cases, put to death 
by the workers when they are about two months 
old. This they do by stinging them ; but in the 
case just mentioned, where the queen lays male 
eggs only, their instincts teach the workers to let 
the drones live — and they do not attack them. 

As soon as a working bee has attained its perfec 
or imago state, it seeks for the door of the hive 
and instantly sets out, quite capable of fulfilling 
all its destinies ! The hum made by its wings 
ceases at the first flower it arrives at, into which it 
enters; and, rubbing its tongue between the petals 
and stamens, sweeps out all the nectar, which it 
deposits in its honey-bag. When, having passed 
from flower to flower, this honey-bag is full, it takes 
from the anther the pollen necessary to make the 
bread for the pupse, and it also gathers propolis. 
It will have flown, perhaps, a mile before it has 
got laden, It then returns uniformly in a straight 
line to its hive. Arrived there, it imparts to its 

Vol. V.— 10. 



comrades, who have been engaged at home, what 
nutriment they require, and stores np the rest for 
after use. It then rests for a few minutes, and 
again departs on its food-collecting errand. In 
like manner it arrives into being, perfectly able to 
perform all its other instinctive actions without 
requiring the slightest education ! 

Perhaps not among the least surprising of these, 
are the contrivances of the bees for ventilating the 
hive. A bee-hive, as may easily be fancied, is apt 
to get both heated and corrupted by foul air. In 
order to obtain a supply of fresh and pure air, a 
number of the workers, often about twenty, station 
themselves in a file upon the floor. They hold 
very firm to the ground; and " by means of their 
marginal hooks, unite each pair of wings into one 
plane, slightly concave — thus acting upon the air 
by a surface nearly as large as possible, and forming 
for them a pair of very ample fans, which in their 
vibrations describe an angle of 60°." They 
vibrate these fans with such rapidity, that the 
wings are scarcely visible. By this operation, a 
very perceptible current of air is driven into the 
hive, which of course displaces the corrupt air. 

The warlike undertakings of bees are amusing. 
Dreadful deeds are sometimes to be witnessed in a 
hive ; and probably depend upon one of the workers 
having become old, and not so active as before, 
and another one trying to kill him. These en- 
counters occasionally end in the death of both 
combatants ; sometimes one slays the other, and 
sometimes, after fighting for an hour or more, they 
give up by mutual consent. Occasionally, general 
battles take place between the occupants of two 
hives. A hive may attempt to plunder the honey 
of another; and when this is the case, the bees 
composing it at first act with caution, and a few 
of them linger about the door of the hive intended 
to be pillaged. After a little, the whole robbers 
come in a body, and a fearful battle ensues. If 
the invaders can succeed in killing the queen, the 
attacked join with them, assist in plundering 
their former house, and then depart home with the 

Occasionally four or five bees unite together, 
and attack either a straggling hive bee or a 
humble bee. Their object is merely to rob him 
of his honey. They hold him by the legs and 
pinch him until he unfolds his tongue ; which is 
sucked in succession by his assailants, who then 
suffer him to depart in peace. 

On the other hand, bees are themselves exposed 
to many assailants. The common wasp often 
attacks their hives on a pilfering expedition, and, 
owing to his size and courage, is a formidable 
thief: one wasp being able to fight three bees. 
On some occasions, the wasps drive the bees out 
bodily, take possession of their hive, and, of 
course, eat all their honey. A still more formi- 
dable opponent is found in the larvae of Tinea 
mellonella, and other species of moths, who spend 
the early part of their lives in the hives, where 
they consume large quantities of food. They spin 
a silken tube around them, through which the 
stiugs of the bees cannot penetrate. The bees, 
however, take great pains to keep the moths out 
of their hives, and thus prevent the possibility of 
their laying eggs in them. 

They put sentinels at night, who, on the ap- 
proach of the moth, utter a low hum which brings 

assistance, and the moth is stung to death. The 
death-hawk moth, which is almost as large as a 
common bat, sometimes makes its way into hives, 
where it commits great havoc. To defend them- 
selves against it, the bees barricade the entrance 
of their hives with a strong wall made of wax and 
propolis. The wall is built behind the gateway, 
which it completely stops up, and is only pierced 
with a hole that will admit one or two workers. 
This erection is only put up in extreme emergen- 
cies, but is a striking example of an instinct. 

Is not all this truly wonderful ? Let us 
express the earnest hope, that our younger 
readers in particular will make these matters 
a pleasing subject of study. The delight 
derivable from such studies, is really in- 



One fine afternoon at the end of 
September, we were engaged in picking up 
walnuts under a fine tree wdiich grew on our 
lawn ; when my brother saw a line young 
squirrel seated on a branch over his head, 
busily engaged in eating and shelling the 
nuts. We immediately picked up some 
horse-chesnuts, intending to pelt him aAvay; 
and threw several at him. But he took no 
other notice of our efforts to dislodge him, 
than chattering and stamping at a furious 
rate. At last, my brother threw one with 
such good aim, that it struck him on his head 
between 'his eyes, and brought him down 
rather quicker than he went up. On taking 
him up and finding he was only stunned 
(though, from the force of the blow, one 
would have supposed he would have been 
killed outright), we immediately conveyed him 
in doors, and bathed his head with water ; 
hoping we should succeed in restoring him 
to his senses. 

After a quarter of an hour's careful 
attention, the poor little fellow began 
to show some signs of life ; and in a few 
minutes made some attempts to bite. On this, 
w T e thought it highly necessary to put him 
into confinement ; lest, by biting the fingers 
of his captors, he should make his escape. 
Accordingly, a box was procured ; in the lid 
of which, some holes (of the diameter of half 
an inch) were bored ; and " Mr. Jack," as he 
was at once named, was safely deposited there- 
in, together with sufficient hay to make a com- 
fortable bed. In the evening, we put some 
nuts and walnuts into his box, to give him 
the chance of a supper, if he were so dis- 
posed ; but after such a "topper," as our 
gardener called it, his appetite seemed to be 

In the morning, all were down very early 
to see how the "invalid" was; and on 



lifting the lid of the box, he was found to be 
sufficiently recovered to make some vigorous 
efforts to escape. . Finding these however 
unsuccessful, he became very sulky, and 
would not eat; but he chattered at a great 
rate if any one touched his box. It being 
now evident that he was not likely to die, we 
set to work to make him a cage ; and, after 
a couple of days' labor, succeeded in con- 
structing a handsome dwelling, three feet and 
a half in length, and divided into three 
portions. The first consisted of a square box 
with a lid, containing his bed ; and at one 
end was a hole, in front of which his feeding- 
trough roofed with wire, was firmly attached. 
The second division was rather larger than 
his sleeping apartment, and communicated 
with it. The sides and roof were formed of 
wire, and had an opening into his revolving 
cage, which was a cylinder of wire ten inches 
in diameter, and nearly two feet in length. 

When we had finished our job, and the 
varnish had become dry, we proceeded to 
instal him in his habitation. This was a very 
difficult affair, for he used his teeth in the 
most determined manner on everything 
within his reach ; but at last, after many 
attempts with our hands well wrapped up in 
handkerchiefs, we succeeded in catching him 
by the back of his neck, and deposited him in 
his new domicile, in spite of his energetic efforts 
to prevent it. Here he remained the whole 
of the day, and could not be induced to show 
himself, though we placed nuts, &c, in his 
room (between his sleeping place and revolv- 
ing cage). 

Next morning he set out to inspect his 
new dwelling, and soon found his way into 
the " revolver." Here he was regularly 
" adrift," for the open appearance of the 
wire-work induced him to try to get out ; but 
the '•' revolver " shifting with his motions, 
made it very difficult for him to keep his 
feet. He then made a rush to get out 
towards the window (in the recess of which 
his cage was placed) ; but not having had 
any discipline at this species of " treadmill," 
after letting it turn once or twice, he held 
fast to it, and was whirled round several 
times in succession. After about an hour's 
strenuous exertions, he beg<m to find that it 
was needful for him to quicken his motions, 
and save his nose, which got soundly rapped 
as each wooden bar (of which there were 
six to keep the ends apart) came into con- 
tact with it. 

It was very amusing to observe how care- 
fully he would begin to turn it ; at the same 
time hopping gently in the direction he 
wished it to revolve. This was always 
towards the window. When it had reached 
a pretty rapid motion, he frequently missed 
his step, and was carried round several times 
before he could stop. He would then " bolt" 

into his sleeping box, and sit with his head 
out of the hoie. 

After he had been with us about a fort- 
night, we began to try if he would become 
sociable, and eat from our hands. To accom- 
plish this, we kept him on short commons ; 
and when he came out from his berth 
would offer him a nut or an acorn. We 
were now delighted to find that he would, 
after a few trials, take what we offered him ; 
though directly he obtained it, he would 
withdraw to his berth. This we were 
anxious to prevent ; and on his next appear- 
ance, he was enticed into his " revolver." 
This was immediately shifted, so that he 
could not get out of it ; and an acorn was 
offered to him ; this he took from our fingers 
and then tried to escape into his box, but as 
he could not make his exit, he became very 
sulky, dropped his acorn, and remained 
above five minutes in one position, — 
squeaking loudly. We picked up the acorn, 
and again offered it to him ; but this time it 
was indignantly refused, and it was long 
before we could induce him to accept it. 
At last he got the better of his temper, took 
his acorn, and immediately sat up to eat it ; 
though whilst doing so, his fine, full, black 
ey r e was fixed suspiciously upon us. He 
would on our slightest movement stop 
eating, and try to get to his berth ; but he 
did not now drop his acorn. When he had 
eaten several, we let him go to his berth, 
where he remained some time. He then 
came out, and began exercising his "revol- 
ver," in the use of which he had much im- 
proved ; being now able to start it, and 
stop it, without any trouble. In fact, he 
spent most of his time in it, and became out- 
rageous if one prevented him from spinning 
it round. 

One day, I brought in a cob of the Indian 
corn (known as " Cobbett's " corn) and 
offered him a few grains. On tasting them, 
he became quite excited, chattering away 
at a great rate ; and when he had finished 
them, he climbed up the side of his cage, next 
to where I stood, evidently trying to get 
more. I thought this would be a favorable 
opportunity to try what amount of confidence 
he reposed in us ; so I opened his box and 
stood quite still, waiting until he made his 
appearance. This he did not seem disposed 
to do, so long as he could see the corn. I 
therefore shifted my position, and stood on 
the other side, out of his sight. As soon as 
he saw me change my position, he entered 
his box ; and seeing the lid open, was soon on 
the outside. At first he was a little surprised 
at finding himself so close to me ; but the 
sight of the Indian corn (which I held in my 
hand), soon overcame his bashfulness ; and he 
forthwith mounted to my hand, and there sat 
very contentedly eating some of it. 



At this moment, one of my sisters opened 
the door. This so alarmed him, that he made 
the best of his way to his box, and could not 
be induced to come out again during the re- 
mainder of the day, even by the offer of a 
whole cob of corn. 

The suceess that attended my first attempt 
made me exceedingly anxious to tame him 
completely ; and for several days I continued 
to cultivate his good opinion. In this I 
succeeded so well that, before the week ex- 
pired, he would as soon as his box was open, 
leap from it on to my hand, which 1 held out 
for that purpose. More than this, after a 
few trials he would sit and eat on my shoul- 
der, or on the palm of my hand. We next 
put bread and milk into his trough ; and in a 
short time he became very fond of it, and 
would lap it up like a kitten, either out of 
his trough, or a saucer, which we generally 
used when he came out into the room. In 
the course of a few days we let him out of 
his box, when we sat down to breakfast ; and 
just befQre I fed him, he ran round the room, 
examining everything, but not making the 
least attempt to escape. At last, he found 
the window curtains, up which he dashed at 
a tremendous rate, and soon ensconced him- 
self on the cornice. Here he remained very 
quietly until dinner-time ; when we had some 
difficulty in getting him down. It was only 
by attaching a pocket-handkerchief (to which 
he had a great dislike), to the end of a stick, 
and flanking him with it, that we were able 
to make him quit his position. When I en- 
tered the room, early in the morning, he 
would stop his " revolver," and watch me 
with great attention, expecting his morning 
meal (for I always fed him). If lie saw me put 
my hand to my waistcoat- pocket, he would 
get into his box, and try to push open the 
lid, with a view to get out ; for Iwa« anxious 
to make liim as friendly as possible, and let 
him have as much liberty as I possibly could. 

He now began ; when let out at meal-times, 
to mount the table, and help himself to what- 
ever he liked best ; and would fight despe • 
rately to retain what he had taken. The 
butter attracted his particular attention ; and 
it was difficult to prevent him from taking a 
whole pat at a time. One morning, he had 
been sitting on the table by my side, eating 
acorns ; and having consumed as much as he 
eared for, jumped on my father's shoulder, 
holding more than half an acorn in his mouth. 
This he endeavored to tuck away into his 
neckcloth, just under his ear. Vastly amused, 
we felt desirous to see what he wanted to 
do. Now -at the bottom of the table, in front 
of my father, was a cold roast pheasant, one 
of the drumsticks of which was lying in the 
dish and had attracted his attention. On 
this he made a most determined assault ; and 
catching it by one ^nd, tried to carry it off, 

chattering vociferously, even before a hand 
was stretched out to prevent him. Query. 
Did he know he was doing wrong? [Most 
assuredly he did !] My brother took hold of 
the other end ; but he was determined not to 
give in, and pulled away most energetically. 
Nor would he drop it, fill I caught him by 
the tail. He then attacked me, and seemed 
rather disposed to bite. But at the sight of 
my handkerchief, which I drew from my 
pocket, he ran to his box, remaining there 
till dinner-time. 

C. F. T. Y. 

StocJJeigh Pomeroy, Devon. 

(To he concluded in our next.) 

[As a companion to the above very inte- 
resting tale, we refer those who are fond of this 
amusing little rogue — so full of love and 
affection where his heart is lodged, to an ar- 
ticle from our own pen, entitled " Domestic 
Pets." (See Vol. I., p. 113.) The squirrel 
there described, was the major domo in a 
large house of ours ; and pretty havoc he 
made with some of the furniture and orna- 
ments when our back was turned ; cunningly 
hiding himself in the curtains, to mark our 
surprise on entering the room ! We were then, 
it hardly needs be said, a bachelor; having 
every thing our own way, and also our own 
v;ay of having it. Delightful privilege ! A-hem ! 
From boyhood upwards, we were never with- 
out " something " to love and lavish our affec- 
tions on, — so Skuggy and a very choice pair 
of goldfinch-mules had the free range of our 
rooms. " We four " formed a droll but 
happy quartette. Such breakfasts did we 
discuss together; and such pranks did we 
play up the while ! But. alas ! our little 
friends have perished. We alone survive. 
Yet does memorv fondlv cherish all their 
little endearments, and look back delighted 
with the innocence and disinterestedness of 
that early friendship.] 



(From the Sanscrit.) 

And when she spoke — upon the maiden's tongue, 
Distilling nectar, such rare accents hung ! 
The sweetest note that e'er the Koil pour'd 
Seem'd harsh and tuneless as a jarring chord. 
The melting glance of that soft liquid eye, 
Tremulous like lilies when the breezes sigh ; 
Which learnt it first — so winning and so mild — 
The gentle fawn ? or Mena's gentler child ? 
And oh, the arching of her brow! so fine 
Was the rare beauty of its pencill'd line — 
Love gazed upon her forehead in despair, 
And spurn'd the bow he once esteem'd so fair. 
Her long bright tresses too might shame the pride 
Of envious antelopes on the mountain side. 
Surely her Maker's care had been to cull 
From all that's lovely the most beautiful; 
As if the world's Creator would behold 
All beaut* centked in a sjngle mould. 





Old Winter was passing, when Nature arose, 
Revived and refresh d with her gentle repose ; 
And she smiled as she bade him farewell : 
For sweet Spring had promised to visit the glen, 
To roam with the children of Nature again, 
Through forest, dale, valley, and dell. 

The snowdrop and crocus first came to engage 
The pretty pale primrose to act as her page, 
And the cowslip to bear her commands : 
The green turf and clover had made for her feet, 
A carpet bespangled with daisies — so neat ! 
Interspers'd o'er the sunniest lands. 

She came with a smile (as all happy days come) ; 
The grasshopper's chirp, and the bee's busy hum 
Kesounded o'er valley and plain : 
Her courtiers, r _the Moss-rose, and sweet Migno- 
And delicate Lily all happily met, 
Aud join'd in the numerous train. 

Every day brought new visitors splendidly drest — 
AH welcomed by Nature and her lovely guest, 
They made no delay, nor excuse ; 
She laid down the plan she would have them pursue, 
And pledged them her friendship in bright 

sparkling dew, 
From golden cups cull'd for her use. 

High over the mountains she roam'd with the 

And listen'd entranced to the lark's gentle lay, 
As he gracefully rose on the wing : 
The birds felt her presence, and merrily sang, 
Through forest and valley, the wild echo rang, 
And welcomed the sweet smiles of Spring. 

And at eve when the golden sun sank in the west, 
And the children of Nature reposed on her breast, 
She roam'd by the moon's gentle rays; 
Where the rivulet sang as it rippled along, 
And the nightingale warbled his rich mellow song, 
Commencing each lay with her praise. 

Then the morn came again, and thus time passed 

With the smile of the merry, and songs of the gay, 
All doubts, fears, and cares were removed; 
The notes of the cuckoo were borne on the breeze, 
The gay squirrel leaped from the boughs of the 

And Spring felt that she was belov'd. 

She welcomed them all with a soothing caress, 
But the sweet violet crept in the folds of her dress, 
And timidly feared to offend; 
She pass'd not unnoticed, a fragrance so sweet 
I^ed Spring to discover its shady retreat, 
And she claimed it as her " bosom-friend." 

And now all was happiness. Gaily the sun 

Shed a radiant pleasure on every one, 

And showered sweet smiles from above : 

All blessings were traced to his kind gracious 

Who giveth the increase, enricheth the land, 
And crowneth our labor with Love. 


What a vast, elaborate, and beau- 
tiful portion of created things are 
Vegetables ! How diversified their appear- 
ance ! how varied their uses ! Every plant ; 
nay, every blade of grass, every leaf, exhibits 
in itself so much design and forethought, 
and is so replete with wonders, that it were 
unpardonable for any one to overlook their 
claims on our attention. 

Whether we examine microscopically the 
minutest moss or parasitical fungus (each 
magnificent), or cast our unaided vision over 
plants of more gigantic proportions ; whether 
our minds revert to the luxuriant display 
and exuberance of tropica? vegetation, where 
the Palms, " those princes of torrid regions " 
flourish in perfection, or dwell on the more 
placid and cheerful appearance of our own 
woods and meadows green ; or ponder on the 
humble mosses of the Arctic circle, which form 
part of the Laplander's support — we shall 
rind plenty to absorb our attention, excite 
our admiration, and stimulate our curiosity. 

Wherever we turn, there are plants : and 
now let us glance at a few of their uses. 
They purify the air, by absorbing and assimi- 
lating in their tissues the carbonic acid 
exhaled from the lungs of animals, and unfit 
for their support ; at the same time that they 
give off oxygen from the leaves (which 
perform the functions of lungs), so essential 
to the support of animal existence. Thus 
there is a mutual interchange of requisites 
and indispensables ; the one consuming the 
rejected of the other, — each supporting either, 
and maintaining a just equilibrium. 

Again, man and most brutes obtain the 
greater portion of their sustenance from 
vegetables, in one form or another. From 
them likewise we have materials for building, 
clothing (cotton is the envelope of a seed), 
and warmth (coal is fossilated vegetable 
matter). And L.stly, when sickness attacks 
those most dear 10 us, it is from plants that 
most of the remedies are obtained. I say 
most ; for glancing my eye round the apart- 
ment where I write, the preponderance of 
these over medicines procured from either 
i the Animal or Mineral Kingdom, is 
strikingly manifested. 

All parts of plants are used either as food 
or in ;he alleviation of disease. We have 
, Ginger. Horseradish, Liquorice, Gentian, 
Rhubarb, Sarsaparilla, Dandelion roots, and 
i Arrowroot (a fsecula derived from the same 
1 organ); Oak, Cinnamon, and Peruvian Ixirls ; 
i Hemlock. Senna, Tea, Tobacco leaves ; Rose, 
i Elder, Chamomile, Violet, Orange ilovtrs ; 
' Carrawav, Flax, Mustard. Coriander. Fennel 
! fruits (usually called seeds), as well as those 
j better known as articles of dessert. The pith 
| of a Palm forms Sago, the stigmas of a Crocus 



are known as Saffron ; Cloves are the unex- 
pantled buds of a species of Myrtle ; and Manna 
is the exudation of one of the Ash tribe. 

To the proper appreciation of the uses and 
funct ons of Plants, a knowledge of Botany 
s indispensable; and the foundation of the 
science may be laid, and the superstructure 
subsequently raised, with a limited scope 
for observation and the outlay of a mere trifle. 
These facts ought to constrain all to become 
acquainted with the wonders of Vegetable 
Physiology; and appear to present no 
obstacles as a stimulus to that acquirement. 
Nature invites attention and examination, and 
courts inquiry ; yielding her truths to investi- 
gating minds. 

When I commenced the study, I rose at 
four and continued till seven (when business 
demanded my return) ; and with a small 
treatise in my hands, and specimen box at 
my side, I wandered through charming 
meadows, luxuriant corn fields, by the side 
of murmuring streams, and adjacent hills ; 
nor did I forsake marshes and swampy ground 
and secluded woods, but visited each in turn ; 
and on my return home arranged my collec- 
tions in the drying press, and afterwards 
extended them in methodical order in my Her- 
barium. It was then that I stored up facts, 
and the major part of what little I know. 

Gradually but surely did the hitherto 
veiled wonders reveal themselves, and imper- 
ceptibly I became versed in the relations of 
organs to each other. Every part — root, 
stem, leaves, stipules, bracts, appendages, 
transformations, and elaborations, in turn 
occupied attention, and were systematically 
digested. I culled, simultaneously, facts and 
flowers, heaths and health. The pleasure, 
too, of seeing the rising sun, the opening 
flowers, and the return to animation of 
reposed nature, the pure air, the cheerful' 
greeting of the birds, and the numberless 
charms unknown till met with, — formed a 
treat not dreamt of before, and abundantly 
repaid my efforts. 

Often have I watched two neighboring 
daisies ; the one warmed by the sun, and in 
full blow, the other gradually opening as his 
genial rays became felt. Well and truthfully 
does Mrs. Marcet say, that, " Botany elevates 
the heart while it enlightens the mind ; and 
tends quite as much to religious contempla- 
tion as to scientific knowledge." It is from 
wild flow r ers, and weeds too, that Botanical 
truths are gathered, rather than from cul- 
tivated monstrosities, — another inducement 
to the study, as these may be obtained every 
where ; yes, even in the heart of London 
there are facilities, if the will be paramount. 

The natural system is by far the better of 
the two, for gaining a clear insight ; yet the 
Linnaean possesses great merits. The former 
amply repays for the extra time and attention 

bestowed on its acquaintance. Plants are 
divided into flowering and flowerless, and 
the former into Exogens and Endogens 
(called also Mono and Dicotyledons, from 
their having respectively one seed leaf, or. if 
more, arranged alternately, and having two 
seed leaves or cotyledons) . Exogens increase 
by additions of new wood, exterior to the 
last formed ; consequently the centre of the 
tree is the hardest ; and by a transverse 
section each layer may readily be distin- 
guished ; and as each one took a season for 
its deposition, the age of the tree may, by 
counting, be ascertained. Endogens, on the 
contrary, grow by depositions to the interior ; 
this, therefore, is the softer part, and the cir- 
cumference is gradually pushed outward. 
On examination, the contents form an in- 
distinguishable mass ; no concentric deposits 
being observed as in the former case. The 
first embrace our forest trees, most shrubs, 
and indigenous plants. The second division 
is best illustrated by the Palms ; and Grass 
tribe, seen in extenso in bamboos and canes. 
The flowerless plants comprise Ferns, Algse, 
Lichens, Mosses, and Fungi. The leaves 
of Exogens and Endogens, present features 
w T hereby each division may be ascertained ; 
the former having the veins reticulated, 
they intersect one another and form a net 
work. The latter have the veins proceeding 
in lines parallel to each other from the petiole 
(leaf stalk) to the apex of the lamina (broad 
green portion). They do not meet and cross 
one another. The organs of plants are of 
two kinds — nutritive and reproductive, each 
possessed of peculiar and important properties. 
Those of nutrition are — Root and its attend- 
ant radicles, Stem, Bark and Leaves. Of 
reproduction, Calyx, Corolla, Stamens, Pistil, 
Pericarp, and seed. We purpose giving an 
outline of each. 

The root assumes various forms, tapshaped, 
fibrous, bulbous, &c; and it is by means of 
the spongioles at the extremities of its fibres 
that the food is absorbed from the ground ; 
and by capillary attraction, and a peculiar 
process, called Endosmose, that this is subse- 
quently distributed through all parts of the 
plant, forming the sap. The stem is the 
communicating pipe, is succulent, full of 
vessels, and £ of various shapes, composed 
in the Exogenae of pith (medulla) Medullary 
rays, wood in concentric layers, and bark ; 
and is either annual, biennial, or perennial. 
The bark i.s composed of several layers ; the 
outer called Epidermis, and the inner, Liber. 
Leaves, as before intimated, perform the 
functions of lungs. It is through them that 
the superfluous gases are given off and the 
necessary ones inhaled. One need only go 
to Kew to see them in every variety of shape 
and size. They are usually found disposed in 
a symmetrical manner on the branches, and 



without at present entering into minutiae, I 
will refer to the Lilac tree, where they are seen 
in perfection, and singular exactness. 

Leaves are attached to the trunk, &c, by 
means of a stalk, called Petiole, though some 
are deficient of this connecting link, and are 
then called Sessile. Sometimes they are beau- 
tifully ciliated with hairs resembling floss silk, 
and are likewise furnished with Stomata, or 
breathing pores, on one or both sides. If a 
tree in full vigor be stripped of these organs, 
it soon perishes. Yet, in winter, such is not 
the case. This results from the life of the 
plant remaining dormant in that season, and 
is a process resembling the hybernation of 

Of the reproductive organs, the Calyx is to 
be first considered. This is the outside whorl 
of leaves composing the flower ; it is formed 
either of one or more parts called sepals. 
Next to it, is the Corolla, likewise of one 
piece or several ; this is the gay portion, of a 
fine texture, and delicately formed. The third 
whorl is the Stamens, composed of a stalk or 
filament, and the anther containing the pollen. 
Then comes the Pistil — usually of three 
parts ; the ovary containing the vegetable 
eggs. This forms the base, then comes 
the style, and on the top of that the Stigma. 
Sometimes, this latter rests on the ovary, 
without the intervention of a style, as in the 
Poppy. These several whorls alternate with 
each other. Should either be opposite, we 
consider that one set of organs remains 

A single Stamen and Pistil in Botany, forms 
a flower, even if all other parts are absent. 
After the flower is fully blown, each part, 
having performed its duties, gradually dies 
away. The ovary enlarges, ripens, and 
contains the now perfected ovules or seeds. 
It is called the Pericarp, and is of a great 
variety of shapes, giving the distinguishing 
characteristic to some natural orders. The 
seeds ripen, and contain in themselves the 
rudiments of a progeny, and possess the 
wonderful property of producing a plant 
similar to the one from which it sprung. 

We have thus slightly sketched the outline 
of Vegetable Physiology. Much still remains 
to be considered. Since our countrywomen 
have devoted their talents to the study, it 
has become fashionable, and bids fair to 
become generally appreciated. 

What dire necessities on every hand 
Our art, our strength, our fortitude require ! 
Of foes intestine, what a numerous band 
Against this little throb of life conspire ! 
Yet Science can elude their fatal ire 
Awhile, and turn aside Death's levelled dart; 
Soothe the sharp pang, allay the fever's fire, 
And brace the nerves once more, and cheer the 

And yet a few soft nights and balmy davs impart. 

E. L. M. 


Air,— " The Little House under the Hill." 


Mellow the moonlight to shine is beginning ; 
Close by the window young Eileen is spinning, 
Bent o'er the fire her blind grandmother, sitting, 
Is croaning, and moaning, and drowsily knitting — 
"Eileen, achora, I hear some one tapping," — 
" Tis the ivy, dear mother, against the glass 

"Eileen, I surely hear somebody sighing." — 
" 'Tis the sound, mother dear, of the summer 
wind dying." 
Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirring^ 
Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the foot's 

stirring ; 
Sprightly, and lightly, and airily ringing, 
Thrills the sweet voice of the young maiden 


" What's that noise which I hear at the window, 

I wonder?" — 
" 'Tis the little birds chirping, the holly-bush 

under." — 
" What makes you be shoving and moving your 

stool on, 
And singing all wrong that old song of ' The 

There's a form at the casement — the form of her 

true love — 
And he whispers, with face bent, " I'm waiting 

for you, love ; 
Get up on the stool, through the lattice step 

We'll rove in the grove while the moon's shining 

Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirring, 
Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the 

foot's stirring ; 
Sprightly, and lightly, and airily ringing, _ 
Thrills the sweet voice of the young maiden 



The maid shakes her head, on her lip lays her 

Steals up from the seat— longs to go, and yet 

A frightened glance turns to her drowsy grand- 
Puts one foot on the stool, spins the wheel with 

the other. 
Lazily, easily, swings now the wheel round ; 
Slowly and lowly is heard now the reel's sound ; 
Noiseless and light to the lattice above her 
The maid steps — then leaps to the arms of her 
Slower — and slower — and slower the wheel 

swings ; 
Lower — and lower — and lower the reel rings ; 
Ere the reel and the wheel stopped their ringing 

and moving, 
Through the grove the young lovers by moon- 
light are roving ! 

Dublin University Magazine. 




He joys — when the sunbeam breaks 

O'er field and flood — 
And the matin bird awakes 

In lyric mood — 
To stroll by the murmuring; river, 
Where the breeze-wooed osiers quiver! 

He loves — when the zephyr strays 

At bright noontide — 
To mark how the fleet bee plays 

Each bloom beside ; 
How from flower to flower it wings, 
And sweets from each blossom brings ! 

He loves — when faint twilight blends 

The day and night — 
When the bird, outwearied, wends 

Its homeward flight — 
To muse, how the West enfolds 
That monarch the East upholds ! 

He loves — when Night's spirits wander, 

In mystic sheen ; 
'Mid fair Nature hush'd — to ponder 

O'er what hath been — 
How earth like a charnel seems, 
When man, in death's image, dreams ! 

All these are the charmful hours, 

With beauty fraught — 
When the poet all outpours 

His stream of thought ! — 
Lone hours ! — when the song he weaves 
Outwhispers the life he breathes ! 


The Naturalist, No. 37. 

and Sons. 


The opening paper in this popular Mis- 
cellany is by our good friend J. M'Intosh, 
Esq., and embodies some of his keen obser- 
vations on the Mole (Talpa Vulgaris). This 
useful little animal, often before commented 
on in our pages, has hitherto been cruelly 
slaughtered, because of the imagined injury 
be has done to the ground. It is now clearly 
demonstrated that he is the farmer's best 
friend ! 

As we usually extract some interesting 
matter from this periodical, we can hardly do 
better than record what Mr. M'Intosh says 


It is a fact well known, that man, from the 
earliest ages, has been at war with his own class ; 
it need not then surprise us that his arm should 
be lifted against numbers of his friends and 
natural allies ; but such is the fact. He wages a 
perpetual war against the Book, the Owl, the 
Sparrow, &c, and contrives "artful engines" to 
entrap the useful Mole, who taught him draining 
and sub-cultivation, and from whom, some day, he 
will learn a greater lesson, and call him a prophet ; 
that is, when he has done hanging him. Wherever 

I go, I see trees and bushes in the corners of 
fields, and by gates of plantations, the hedges by 
the highway side, yea, even at the door-side of 
some ruthless and ignorant biped, who calls him- 
self " lord of the creation," covered with the dead 
bodies of poor Moles, killed without mercy or judg- 
ment. The only excuse the farmer makes for 
destroying the Mole is, " that their hills look un- 
sightly ;" " that they eat the seed-corn, and destroy 
the roots of the same in the construction of their 
hills;" and " that they stop up their drains." 

Now, in answer to the first of these charges, I 
only wish, for the sake of the farmer, and the 
welfare of his fellow-creatures, that there was 
nothing more unsightly on the generality of their 
farms than Mole hills. Look at the essence of 
their manure-heaps; the effluvium of gas which is 
suffered to escape from them is not only wasteful 
altogether, but is lost to useful vegetation, and 
what is still worse, fills the atmosphere with par- 
ticles injurious to health, and often destructive to 
life. The evaporation from the farm-yard robs 
the farmer of part of his substance, starves his 
crops, and it is well if it does not, moreover, 
poison him and his family by its contaminating 
influence. Some receptacles for manure are so 
offensive, tha'. if they do not generate typhus 
fever, in its worst form — which, I fear, is fre- 
quently the case — they at least cause languor and 
debility; and it is a fact well known, that these 
exhalations, so injurious to animal life, are the 
essence of vegetable life; and the volatile sub- 
stance, which offends our senses and injures our 
health, if arrested in its transit by the hand of 
skilful industry, may be so modified in the great 
laboratory of nature, as to greet us in the fragrance 
of a flower, regale us in the luscious peach, pear, 
or plum, or furnish the stamina of life in sub- 
stantial viands from the field and stall of the culti- 
vator. Again, look at the dirty hedges and the 
filthy ditches, &c, which to me are ten thousand 
times more unsightly and unprofitable than so 
many acres of Mole-hills. 

I entirely agree with Mr. E. Jesse, in his 
"Natural History," page 137, when he asserts 
that Moles were intended to be beneficial to man- 
kind, ^heep invariably thrive better, and are more 
healthy on those pastures where Mole-hills are 
most abundant, owing to the wild thyme, and 
other salubrious herbs, which grow upon those 
heaps of earth. The healthy state of sheep is 
particularly remarkable on the extensive pastures 
of Lincolnshire ; and there'Mole-hills are extremely 
abundant. Deer, likewise, appear to be benefited 
by their existence in their pastures. It is asserted 
as a fact that, after the Mole-hills had been de- 
stroyed in a park which belonged to the Earl of 
Essex, in Herefordshire, the deer in it never 
throve. To use the words of James Hogg, better 
known as the "Ettrick Shepherd :" — " The most 
unnatural persecution that ever was raised in this 
country is that against the Mole, that innocent 
and blessed little pioneer, who enriches our pas- 
tures annually with the first top-dressing, dug 
with great pains and labor from the fattest soil 
beneath. The advantage of this top-dressing is 
so apparent, and so manifest to the eye of every 
unprejudiced observer, that it is really amazing 
how our countrymen should have persisted, now 
nearly half a century, in the most manly and 



valiant endeavors to exterminate the Mole from 
the face of the earth ! If a hundred men and 
horses were employed in a common-sized pasture, 
say from fifteen hundred to two thousand acres, in 
raising and carrying manure for a top-dressing for 
that farm, they could not do it so effectually, so 
neatly, or so equally, as the natural number of 
Moles on that farm would do it of themselves." 
Thus then I have disposed of the first silly charge 
against this useful and innocent little sub-culti- 
vator. I would further remark, that it is not so 
wise to throttle hiin,'as you may think. 

The second great charge against our u blessed 
little pioneer," is, " that he eats the seed-corn, 
and destroys the roots in the construction of his 
hills." This charge is so utterly absurd, that it 
carries with it its own refutation. That they eat 
grain I flatly deny, having examined the stomachs 
of many. I have never found an atom of a grain 
in them ! But it is stated, and that on good au- 
thority, that sixty thousand bushels of seed-corn 
are yearly destroyed by wireworms [Elateridoe), 
some of which, it is well known to naturalists, live 
in their larva state from four to five years, de- 
vouring the roots of wheat, rye, oats, and other 
vegetables. In some seasons they destroy whole 
crops. Now it is upon these Elaterula that the 
Mole lives, with other insects, worms {Vermes), 
frogs (Bona), with slugs and snails (Limax and 
Helix), the two last of which, it is well known, 
are wholesale destroyers of vegetable life in its 
young state. How absurd then is it to see these 
poor Moles hanging gibbeted by the dozen, their 
clever paddles stopped by cruel ignorance ! Well 
may we exclaim — 


Oh, ignorance ! where is thy blush ?" 

" Prior to my coming to reside in my parish," 
says the Rev. G. Wilkins, of Wix, in the 
" Farmer's Magazine," " the land I occupy had 
been for many years in the occupation of a very 
old man, who was a determined enemy to every 
living creature of which he could not discover the 
benefit ; and his enmity was especially directed 
against the Mole. In my barn, as a kind of heir- 
loom, hung a bundle of Mole-traps, which I at once 
consigned to the fire. Then came the Mole-catcher 
for his salary, as he caught my Moles by the year. 
I paid him his money, and made him stare like a 
lunatic when I told him he would do me a favor 
if he would bring me a cart load of his Moles, and 
turn them down in my fields. My fields being 
near a village, where Rooks could not come, 
swarmed with wireworms. Every year one-third 
of my crops was quite destroyed by them. One 
narrow field, surrounded with trees, was nearly 
useless from them. But at length relief came. I 
had long hoped to see my favorites the Mole-heaps ; 
and at length, as if by a simultaneous agreement, 
that little long field was full of Moles, which set 
to manfully upon the destroyers of my crops, and 
after some time completely destroyed them. They 
then passed over into the next field, and the pests 
in this field shared the same fate as the others. 
I now verily believe I have not a wire-worm left 
in my fields ; and as the Moles have entirely done 
their work unsolicited, they have gone off to my 
neighbors with the same good intention." 

The farmers on the Continent, particularly in 
Belgium, are greatly averse to their being de- 

stroyed ; and I believe that the most unpopular 
act in my respected father's life, was the introduc- 
tion of the English Mole-trap into that country, 
about the year 1834. Although upon a royal 
domain, however, and at the command of Majesty 
itself, all endeavors to extirpate them proved un- 
availing; and the habits and wise judgment of a 
gardening and agricultural people were yielded to 
as an act of expediency. Happy I am to state 
that both His Majesty and my father have repented 
them of the evil, and are now numbered amongst 
the merciful defenders of our useful Utile sub-cul- 
tivator, the common Mole ! Thus, then, I hope I 
have clearly defended " the little culprit " from 
the second* and absurd charge brought against 
him, to the satisfaction of his accusers ! 

The third charge brought against the tiny Mole 
in an agricultural point of view, to those unac- 
quainted with its usefulness, would lead many to 
sign its death-w r arrant. Against this I will place 
the following evidence from the pen of an agricul- 
tural gentleman, in the " Agricultural Gazette," 
for 1844, who says, "I have wet meadows, in 
which they do me vast service. One of my 
meadows was so wet, that no Mole worked into it, 
but only burrowed on the surface, barely deep 
enough to cover his body with the roots of the 
grass and weeds, and this only in very dry hot 
days of August — the only time when worms could 
be found. I dug a few drains, and the next 
summer found the Moles worked as deep as the 
bottom of the drains, and into them. Another 
year the drains were cut as deep as the fall would 
allow, and the same result followed. My friends, 
the Moles, opened scores of their channels into the 
very bottom of these drains, and the meadow is 
now firm and sound. In all my meadows, fi ding 
the good they do, I never have them disturbed. 
Only in April I send out a man to level their 
hillocks, then roll them; and I never have any 
complaint from the mowers. Depend upon it, 
they are very beneficial to all lands, particu- 
larly to wet bog soil. When four feet drains are 
made with inch tiles, they cannot enter, but would 
work at that depth in all directions, and be of the 
greatest possible use." 

On some lands the drainage is wholly effected 
by the Mole, so far that the farmer might save 
himself some shillings, nay pounds, to the Mole- 
catcher. Let us hope, then, that henceforward he 
may be suffered to live in peace, and die of old 
age, throughout the length and breadth of our 
blessed land. To the farmer and the gardener 
this matter is worthy of more consideration than 
it has yet obtained. 

Among the other papers, is one on the 
"Common Ring Snake," by Mr. Michael 
Westcott. This is not written in an amiable 
spirit, and appears to have originated in a 
) morbid desire to attack Mr. John Garland, 
for some interesting observations of his on 
a similar subject, published antecedently in 
the "Naturalist." Mr. Garland has nothing 
to fear from such an antagonist ; and will, no 
doubt, continue to publish his observations 
on Nature, sans pear, whenever he sees fit. 

In the " Retrospect," there are two crooked 
matters set straight — the one referring to a 



dispute about the Water Wagtail, the other 
to the nesting of the Starling. The season 
has now arrived when each succeeding number 
can hardly fail to increase in interest. 

Zoological Eecreations. By W. J. 
Broderip, F.R.S. Small 8vo. H. Colburn. 

It is strange but true, that no periodical 
devoted solely to matters of Natural History 
has been known to prosper as a pecuniary 
speculation. It ever was so ; ever will be 
so. To be a lover of Natural History for 
its own sake, — to have a soul that can 
appreciate the marvels of Creation, and a 
retined taste to enjoy all that is provided 
for our use in the world of Nature, — these 
are rt gifts " which are not conferred upon the 
multitude. The " choice" few are alone in 
the secret. 

Aware of this "great fact," we have ever 
made Our Journal widely discursive in the 
matters treated of, — the Book of Nature 
having neither a beginning nor an ending. 
This causes us to circulate everyv:here. 
Those who love Natural History will, in our 
pages, find it introduced in every fascinating 
form ; whilst all who seek variety, amuse- 
ment, and general information, are as amply 
and carefully provided for. Thus do we 
seek to win people to our favorite study ; 
and strive to create a love for that which we 
individually feel to be so lovely. 

The book now before us is one which 
should rank second only to the imperishable 
work of Gilbert White. It is written in 
a very amiable spirit ; and abounds in the 
most delightful records of animal life, inter- 
spersed with endless anecdotes, both original 
and selected. It is just the book we should 
like to see in the hands of youth ; nor could 
a teacher make his pupil a more acceptable 
present. It would act as a seasonable foil 
to the cheap poison (vending by wagon- 
loads in green shilling volumes,) which is 
now doing such serious, such irreparable 
injury to the public morals and the cause 
of virtue. It would moreover create a pure 
taste for the amiable, in contradistinction to 
the sensual, — now carrying all before its 
baneful influence. 

As it would never do to part from a book 
like this without an extract, let us introduce 
some of the author's delightful comments on 


The little dogs and all, 
Tray, Blanch, and Sweetheart.— Leak. 

Yes, dogs are honest creatures, and the most 
delightful of four-footed beings . The brain and 
nervous system may be more highly developed in 
the Anthropoid apes, and even in some of the 
monkeys ; but for affectionate, though humble com- 
panionship, nay friendship ; for the amiable spirit 
that is on the watch to anticipate every wish of 
bis master — for the most devoted attachment to 

him in prosperity and adversity, in health and sick- 
ness, an attaclmient always continued unto death, 
and frequently failing not even when the once warm 
hand that patted him is clay-cold; what — we 
had almost said who — can equal these charming 
familiars? Your dog will, to please you, do that 
which is positively painful to him. Hungry 
though he be, he will leave his food for you ; he 
will quit the strongest temptation for you; he 
will lay down his life for you. Truly spake he 
who said, " Man is the God of the Dog." 

Of all the conquests over the brute creation 
that man has made, the domestication of the dog 
may be regarded as the most complete, if not the 
most useful : it is the only animal that has followed 
him all over the earth. And to see how these 
noble animals are treated by savages civilised as 
well as uncivilised ; kicked, spurned, harnessed 
to heavy carriages, half-starved, cudgelled, they 
still follow the greater brute that lords it over 
them, and if he condescends to smile upon them 
how they bound in gladness ! if he, by some inex- 
plicable obliquity of good feeling, in a moment of 
forgetfulness caresses them, they are beside them- 
selves with joy 

From whatever source the dog be derived, he 
is one of the most sensible of four-footed ani- 
mals. Gifted with a most retentive memory, 
he applies his power of observation to the regu- 
lation of his conduct so skilfully, that the result 
has very much the appearance of reasoning; if, 
indeed, it may not, without violence, be considered 
as the exercise of that faculty. His intellect, 
when well developed, is of no common order, and 
its constant activity is exhibited when, like the 
Fury in ./Eschylus, he 

" Opens in his sleep, on th' eager chase 
E'en then intent." 

Our readers will, we hope, pardon us if we inflict 
on them a story or two in proof of our assertion. 

We remember to have been once particularly 
struck with the behavior of a dog that had lost 
his master. This, to us, is always a distressing 
sight, and enough, in our humble opinion, to have 
made Democritus himself look grave : but in the 
instance alluded to, there was food for reflection. 

We were walking down a hilly field, whose path 
terminated at a stile which opened upon a road 
running due east and west. This road was cut 
at right angles by another road running northward. 
A dog passed with his nose close to the 
ground, keeping the downward path till he arrived 
at the stile, through which he squeezed himself, 
and, with his nose still down, he first hunted 
busily along the eastern branch, and then along 
the western. He now retraced his steps; and when 
he came nearly opposite to the northern road, he 
lifted his head, looked about him for a moment or 
two, and then set off along that road as fast as he 
could go, without again putting his nose to the 
ground, as who should think to himself — " He is 
not gone that way, nor is he gone that way, 
therefore he must have gone that way "—an oper- 
ation of the mind very like a syllogism. 

Then there is the well-authenticated story of 
the dog that was left, in December, 1784, by a 
smuggling vessel, near Boomer, on the coast of 
Northumberland; and we shall let Bewick, who 
records the fact, tell his own tale : — 

" Finding himself deserted," continues Bewick, 
specaking of the abandoned dog, "he began to 
worry sheep, and did so much damage, that he 
became the terror of the country within a circuit 
of twenty miles. We are assured that when he 
caught a sheep, he bit a hole in its right side, and 
after eating the tallow about the kidneys, left it : 
several of them thus lacerated, were found alive 
by the shepherds, and, being taken care of, some 
of them recovered, and afterwards had lambs. 
From his delicacy in this respect, the destruction 
he made may in some measure be conceived ; as 
it may be supposed that the fat of one sheep in a 
day would not satisfy his hunger. The farmers 
were so much alarmed by his depredations, that 
various means were used for his destruction. 
They frequently pursued him with hounds, grey- 
hounds, &c. ; but when the dogs came up with him, 
he laid down on his back, as if supplicating for 
mercy ; and in this position they never hurt him ; 
he therefore laid quietly, taking his rest till the 
hunters approached, when he made off without 
being followed by the hounds, till they were again 
excited to the pursuit, which always terminated 
unsuccessfully. It is worthy of notice, that he was 
one day pursued from Howick, to upwards of 
thirty miles distance, but returned thither and 
killed sheep the same evening. His constant 
residence during the clay, was upon a rock on the 
Heugh-hill, near Howick, where lie had a view of 
four roads that approached it; and in March, 
1785, after many fruitless attempts he was at last 
shot there." 

Now, to say nothing of the ruse whereby he 
regularly saved himself from his pursuers, this 
was vefy like communing with himself, and, as a 
result, taking up the best possible position for his 
security under existing circumstances, a position 
which enabled him to baffle his enemies for 
upwards of a year : — what is this if it be not 
reason ? 

One more illustration of this part of our subject. 
In the West of England, not far from Bath, there 
lived, towards the close of the last century, a 
worthy clergyman, who was as benevolent as he 
was learned. There were turnspits in those days 
— a most intelligent set they were, and Toby, 
who was an especial favorite, was a model of the 
breed, with legs worthy of the Goio Chrom him- 
self, upon which he waddled after his master every- 
where, sometimes not a little to his annoyance ; 
but Toby was a worthy, and he could not find it 
in his heart to snub him. Things, however, came 
at last to such a pass, that Toby contrived some- 
how or other to find his way to the reading-desk 
on a Sunday, and when the door was opened, he 
would whip in, well knowing that his reverend 
patron was too kind and too decorous to whip 
him out. Now, though it has been said, that 

" He's a good dog that goes to church," 

the exemplary Dr. B., who thought he had 
traced a smile upon the countenance of some of 
his parishioners on these occasions, felt the 
impropriety of the proceeding; so Toby was 
locked up in the stable on Sunday morning; all to 
no purpose, however, for he scrambled through 
the shut window, glass, lead and all, and trotted 
up the aisle after his annoyed master as usual. 
Matters were now getting serious ; so as soon as 

he had on the Saturday caused the beef to revolve 
to a turn which was to be served cold for the 
Sunday dinner — for the good man chose that all 
around him should find the Sabbath a day of rest 
— Toby was taken out of the wheel, and his 
dinner was given to him ; but instead of being 
allowed to go at large to take his evening walk 
after it, Molly, to make sure of him, took him up 
by the neck, and putting him into the wood-hole 
where window there was none, drew the bolt, and 
left him therein. Toby revenged himself, by 
" drying up the souls" of the whole family with 
his inordinate expostulatory yells during the whole 
of the remnant of Saturday and the greater part 
of Sunday ! However, there was no Toby dogging 
the heels of the surpliced minister, and it was 
concluded that the sufferings that the doggie and 
the family had undergone, would have their effect. 
Well, the week wore on, with Toby as amiable 
and as useful as ever, and without a particle of 
sullenness about him — into the wheel went he right 
cheerfully, and made it turn more merrily than 
ever; in short, parlour, kitchen, and all were 
loud in his praise. However, as it drew towards 
twelve o'clock on the Saturday, Toby was 
missed. Poor Molly, the cook, was at her wits' 

" Where's that vexatious turnspit gone ?" 

was the question, and nobody could answer it. 
The boy who cleaned the knives was despatched 
to a distant barn where Toby was occasionally wont 
to recreate himself after his culinary labors, by 
hunting rats. No — no Toby. The sturdy thrash- 
ers, with whom he used sometimes to go home, 
under the idea, as it was supposed, that they were 
the lords of the rat-preserve in the barn, and who, 
being fond of Toby in common with the whole 
village, used occasionally to give him 

" A bit of their supper, a bit of their bed," 

knew nothing of him. Great was the consterna- 
tion at the Rectory. Hints were thrown out that 
" The Tramps " in the green lane had secreted 
him with the worst intentions, for he was plump 
and sleek ; but their camp was searched in vain. 
The worthy family retired for the night, all mourn- 
ing for Toby ; and we believe there is no doubt 
that when the reverend master of the house came 
down on Sunday morning his first question was, 
"Any tidings of Toby?" — A melancholy " No, 
sir," was the answer. After an early breakfast, 
the village schools were heard — their rewards dis- 
tributed, not without inquiries for Toby — and when 
church-time came, it is said that the rector, who 
walked the short distance in full canonicals, look- 
ed over his shoulder more than once. He passed 
through the respectful country-people collected in 
the little green grave-yard, who looked up to him 
as their pastor and friend, he entered the low- 
roofed old Norman porch overhung with ivv. he 
walked up the aisle, the well-filled pews on either 
side bearing testimony that his sober-minded flock 
hungered not for the excitement of fanaticism, he- 
entered the reading-desk, and as he was adjusting 
his hassock, caught the eye of Toby twinkling at 
him out of the darkest corner. Need we say more, 
than that after this, Toby was permitted to go to 
church, with the unanimous approbation of the 
parish, as long as he lived ? Now if this was not 
calculation on the part of Toby, we know not what 



else to term it, and we could refer our readers to 
well-authenticated stories in print — as our dear 
old nurse used to say when she was determined to 
silence all incredulity — that go as far, and even 
farther, to show that these animals can calculate 
intervals of time. 

We conclude with 
dote illustrative of 

a very touching anec- 


The wolf, truculent though he be, is capable 
of a most cordial attachment to man. We have 
seen one follow his master about with all the 
manners of a faithful dog, and doing his bidding 
as obediently. In the instance recorded byM.F. 
Cuvier, the wolf was brought up and treated like 
a young dog; he became familiar with everybody 
whom he saw frequently, but he distinguished his 
master, was restless in his absence, and happy in 
his presence, acting almost precisely as a favorite 
dog would act. But his master was under the 
necessity of being absent for a time, and the un- 
fortunate wolf was presented to the Menagerie du 
Roi — where he was incarcerated in a den — he who 
had " affections, passions." Most disconsolate of 
wolves was he, poor fellow ! he pined — he refused 
his food — but the persevering kindness of his 
keepers had its effect upon his broken spirit, he 
became fond of them, and everybody thought that 
his ancient attachment was obliterated. Eighteen 
long months had elapsed since his imprisonment, 
when his old master came to see him. The first 
word uttered by the man, who was mingled in the 
crowd, had a magical eifect. The poor wolf 
instantly recognised him with the most joyous de- 
monstrations, and being set at liberty, fawned 
upon his old friend, and caressed him in the most 
affecting manner. We wish we could end the story 
here ; but our wolf was again shut up, and another 
separation brought with it sadness and sorrow. 
A dog was given to him as a companion. Three 
years had elaj sed since he last lost sight of the 
object of his early adoration ; time had done much 
to soothe him, and his chum and he lived happily 
together — when the old master came again. 

The " once familiar word " was uttered — the 
impatient cries of the faithful creature, and his 
eagerness to get to his master, went to the hearts 
of all ; and when he was let out of his cage, and 
rushed to him, and with his feet on his shoulders, 
licked his face, redoubling his cries of joy, 
because he who had been lost was found ; the eyes 
of bearded men, who stood by, were moistened, 
His keepers, to whom a moment before he had 
been all fondness, now endeavored to remove him ; 
but all the wolf was then aroused within him, and 
he turned upon them with furious menaces. Again 
the time came when the feelings of this unhappy 
animal were to be sharply tried. A third separa- 
tion was effected. The gloom and sullenness of 
the wolf were of a more deep complexion, and his 
refusal of food more stubborn, so that his life ap- 
peared to be in danger. His health, indeed — if 
health it could be called — slowly returned ; but 
he was morose and misanthropic, and though the 
fond wretch endured the caresses of his keepers, 
he became savage and dangerous to all others who 
approached him. Here was a noble temper 

Excelsior, — No. 1. Nisbet and Co. 

This is a new monthly aspirant for fame, 
professing to help Religion, Science, and 
Literature. The first glance at it, aided by 
the pedantry of its title, tells us at once that 
it is not for the multitude, but for a particular 
class of people. 

Supported, as a periodical like this is sure 
to be, by a certain clique, its success as a 
speculation cannot be doubtful. It is a 
medley, however, that can never become 
generally popular ; although it contains some 
subjects of pleasing interest. The admixture 
of religion with its other features, is in the 
most questionable taste ; for however good 
anything may be, there is a time and a place 
for everything, and cant is at all times ob- 
jectionable. We can afford to speak our 
mind openly. 

Let us, however, turn from the blemishes, 
to give an example of the beauties. From 
a very interesting paper on u Life in its lower 
Forms," we extract the following : — 


There is a mystery couched under that little 
word, which all the research of philosophers has 
not been able to solve. Science, with the ex- 
perience of ages, with all the appliances of art, 
and with all the persevering ingenuity and skill 
that could be brought to bear upon it, has ardently 
labored to lift the veil; but philosophy, and 
science, and art, stand abashed before the problem, 
and confess it a mystery still. The phenomena, 
the properties of life, are readily observable. We 
take a bird in our hands; a few moments ago it 
was full of energy and animation ; it shook its 
little wings as it hopped from perch to perch ; its 
eyes glanced brightly, and its throat quivered as 
it poured out the thrilling song which delighted 
us. Now, the voice has ceased, the eye is dim, 
the limbs are stiffening, and we know that it will 
move no more. Chemical changes have already 
begun to operate upon its organs ; decomposition 
is doing its work, and soon the beautiful little 
bird will be a heap of dust. We say that its life 
has gone ; but what is it that has gone ? If we 
put the body in the most delicate balance, it 
weighs not a grain less than when it was alive ; 
if we measure it, its dimensions are precisely the 
same ; the scalpel of the anatomist finds all the 
constituent parts that made the living being ; and 
what that mighty principle is, the loss of which 
has wrought such a change, alike eludes research 
and baffles conjecture. We are compelled here to 
recognise the Great First Cause, and to say, "In 
Him we live, and move, and have our being." 

The researches of modern science, however, 
aided by the inventions which it has brought into 
requisition, though they have been unable to throw 
a single ray of light on the nature of Life itself, 
have yet done much to make us familiar with its 
phenomena. The microscope, in particular, has 
opened to our inquiry what we may call a world 
of life, under phases and forms as strange and 
surprising as they were before unknown. It has 
enabled us also to separate and analyse the various 
substances or tissues of which the highest forms 



of animate being are composed, and to resolve 
them into their first elements. Numerous and 
diverse as are these substances — bones, cartilage. I 
sinew, nerve, muscle, hair, the teeth, the nails of ; 
the hand, the transparent lens of the eye, — all are j 
reducible to one kind of structure. This structure i 
is a cell. All organic substances are made up of 
cells. The primary organic cell is a minute, | 
pellucid globule, invisible to the naked eye, and i 
containing within it a smaller cell, called the j 
nucleus, which again contains a still more minute j 
granule, called the nucleolus, or little nucleus. 
Even the highest animals, in the early develop- 
meat of the embryo, are composed entirely of j 
nucleated cells, which afterwards assume the 
forms peculiar to the various tissues. In the 
lowest classes of animals, their more simple bodies 
consist almost entirely of cells of this kind. If 
we take a minute portion of the gelatinous flesh ; 
of a medusa or a zoophyte, and crush it between 
two plates of glass beneath the microscope, the 
substance is presently resolved into a multitude | 
of oval pellucid granules, each of which for a short 
time maintains a spontaneous motion, sometimes 
rotating upon itself, but more commonly jerking 
or quivering irregularly. These are the primary 
cells, and their motion is, doubtless, to be attributed 
to the presence of certain hairs, called cilia ; for 
we cannot believe that it is at all connected with 
currents in the fluid that surrounds them, to 
which it has sometimes been referred. 

Cilia play an important part in the economy of 
all animals. Even in the highest forms, many of 
the internal surfaces are furnished with them, and 
nearly all the motions which do not depend upon 
muscular contraction are produced by them. In 
the lower tribes, especially those which are 
aquatic, the office of these organs becomes more 
important and more apparent, until in the very 
lowest we find all movement originating with them. 

The form of these essential organs is that of 
slender, tapering hairs, commonly arranged in 
rows, resembling the eyelashes; whence their 
name. The base of each hair is attached to the 
surface of the body to which it belongs, its whole 
length besides being free. During life each 
cilium maintains an uniform motion of a waving 
or lashing kind, bending down in one direction, 
and then straightening itself again. This move- 
ment is not performed by all the cilia together or 
in unison, but in rapid succession : for example, 
the instant after one has begun to bend, the next 
begins, then the next, and so on ; so that before 
the first has resumed its erect condition, perhaps 
half-a-dozen of its successors are in different 
degrees of flexure. This sort of motion will 
perhaps be better understood by referring to that 
beautiful and familiar spectacle, the waves 
produced by the breeze upon a field of 
standing corn. The motion is exactly the 
same in both cases. The wind as it sweeps 
along, bends each stalk in turn, and each in turn 
reassumes its erect posture; thus the wave runs 
steadily on, though the stalks of corn never remove 
from their place. The appearance of the ciliary 
wave, when viewed with a good microscope, is so 
exquisitely charming, that even those who have 
been long familiar with it can scarcely ever 
behold it without admiration. Let us now speak 
of the 


The most minute and the most simple of all 
living beings, so far as the powers of the best 
microscopes have yet reached, closely resembles 
such a ciliated cell as we have been describing. 
It has been called the Twilight Monad (Monas 
crepusculimi), so named because it is considered 
to be as it were the unit of existence — the point 
where the glimmering spark of life first emerges 
out of the darkness of nonentity. It consists of a 
tiny speck of pellucid matter rounded in form, 
and supposed, from its movements and from ana- 
logy, to be furnished with a single cilium, by 
the lashing action of which it rows itself through 
the water. No words can convey an adequate 
idea of the size of an animal so minute as this, but 
the imagination may be assisted by supposing a 
number of them to be arranged side by side in 
contact with each other, like the beads of a neck- 
lace, when twelve thousand of them would go 
comfortably within the length of a single inch. 
Eight hundred thousand millions would be con- 
tained in a cubic inch; and as they are found 
swarming in water to such a degree as that each 
is sepj. rated from its neighbors by a space not 
greater than its own diameter, a single drop of 
such water has been estimated to contain a thou- 
sand millions of living active beings. If we take 
a bunch of leaves, of the common sage for example, 
or a few twigs of hay, and, tying them into a 
bundle, suspend them in a jar of water, allowing 
the contents to remain untouched, but exposed to 
the air, some interesting results will follow. If 
we examine it on the second day, we shall find 
a sort of scum covering the surface, and the whole 
fluid becoming turbid, and slightly tinged with 
green. If now we take, with the point of a quill 
or a pin, a minute drop of the liquid, and examine 
it with a good microscope under a magnifying 
power of about two hundred diameters, we discover 
the water to be swarming with animal life. 
Immense multitudes of minute round or oval 
atoms are present, which move rapidly with a 
gliding action. These are animals of the genus 
Monas just described. Among them we shall 
probably see other bodies still more minute, resem-. 
bling short lines, most of which are seen to be 
composed of more or fewer bead-like bodies, united 
into a chain. These occasionally bend themselves, 
wriggle nimbly, and effect a rather rapid progres- 
sion in this manner. The scum, or transparent 
pellicile, is found to be composed of countless 
millions of these latter, congregated about as 
thickly as they can lie into patches. They con- 
stitute the genus Vibrio. Several may be seen 
among them briskly wriggling along, which 
resemble a little coil of spiral wire. Such forms 
bear the generic appellation of Spirllium. 

As all infusions of vegetable or animal sub- 
stances are found to be speedily filled with animals 
resembling these, in great variety, though not 
always of the same species, the circumstance has 
been seized by naturalists to afford a name by 
which this class of beings should be distinguished. 
They have been therefore called Infusoria or 
infusory animalcules ; a very extensive group, and 
one which, in the more advanced state of our 
knowledge, it may be found desirable to divide, 
since it includes animals of very different grades 
of organisation. Those of which we have spoken 



are among the simplest of these forms. Every day 
during which the infusion is allowed to stand, will 
display fresh forms ; and generally those which 
appeared most abundantly in the earlier stages will 
be found successively to die out, and be replaced 
by other species. The more highly-organised 
kinds will usually be discovered at the later 

Nug^e'. By the Rev. James Banks, M.A., 
of Lincoln College, Oxford. 12mo. 
Robert Hardwicke. 

We have here a vast number of fugitive 
pieces, " original and translated, 1 ' — being 
what the author terms " the solace of rare 
leisure." They are all in verse ; and will 
no doubt find many admirers. 

We subjoin a single specimen, being an 
address to a fair girl on her birthday : — 

Thou wilt not, dearest girl, despise 

Thy would-be poet's lay ; 
Nor bid him check the thoughts that rise 

Upon thy natal day. 

Faint token is the gift he gives, 

And faint the votive line, 
T' express that all the life he lives, 

His thoughts, his hopes, are — thine ! 

Yet still, as such the gift receive ; 

And though, alas! 'tis small, 
Do thou in kindness, Love, believe 

I fain would give thee — all ! 

May distant years recall to-day, 

And each succeeding prove 
Of me, the truth I strive to say, — 

Of both, our constant love ! 

There is much feeling in the above ; and 
no doubt the poetical arrow went direct to 
the heart at which it aimed. Let us hope 
so ! 

Poems. By William Molyneux. 12mo. 
Simpkin, Marshall, and Co. 

This little volume of poems is dedicated 
by "a grateful Son" to his "affectionate 
Parents," — a noble commencement to a 
worthy undertaking. 

The author has, ere now (see Our Journal 
No. 52), appeared in our pages, and shown 
himself a true poet, possessed of fine feeling. 
We here find him essaying a higher flight, 
and presenting us with a variety of the out- 
pourings of his gentle muse. The subjects 
are diversified, — natural, gay, romantic, 
pathetic, and descriptive, by turns. The 
Isle of Wight, Hastings, Arundel, and other 
favorite spots, — all are visited, and all afford 
food for the pen ; Scotland, too, is laid under 

The list of subscribers, printed at the com- 
mencement of the volume, is a pleasing proof 
of the estimation in which the author is 
held. The first and second are the Duke 

and Duchess of Sutherland, and the third the 
Duchess of Argyll ; whilst there are 
" Honorables" and " Right Honorables" by 
the dozen. This is " the" way to publish 
a book of poems. All other ways are 

Elements of Health. By E.J. Tilt, M.D. 
Henry Bohn. 

The world we live in is a most ungrateful 
world. A man spends his whole life in the 
investigation of matters of vital interest to 
society; he records his observations 5 pub- 
lishes them ; and the public buy them, 
without perhaps ever reading them ! They 
have laid out a few shillings ; and here their 
gratitude (!) ceases. 

This book is, of its class, inestimable ; 
addressing itself most forcibly to every 
parent in the kingdom, — mothers in par- 
ticular. We have read it with the greatest 
attention, and marvel at the mass of informa- 
tion that the indefatigable author has thrown 
together. If people will not learn wisdom — 
on themselves alone be the blame ! 

On a recent occasion (see vol. iv., p. 368), 
we penned an article on the still too prevalent 
custom of confining the female figure in 
a cruelly narrow prison of whalebone and 
steel ; and we directed special attention to the 
unceasing efforts of Madame Caplin 
(Berners Street) to effect a reform in this 
matter. We dwelt at much length, too, on 
the manner in which this is effected ; and 
showed how many thousands of lives were 
saved annually by the exercise of only a little 
common-sense. Unfortunately, this last 
commodity is not the reigning "fashion;" 
hence its banishment from society ! We are 
pleased to see that Dr. Tilt quite takes our 
view of this great question, and that Madame 
Caplin's almost superhuman efforts to bring 
people to reason are not lost upon him. 
Philanthropists are not met with every day, 
and they deserve the encouragement of all 
good men and women, — alas, how few ! 

We had marked a variety of extracts to 
prove the truth of what we have advanced. 
As, however, our columns are at present 
overcrowded, we shall hold them in reserve. 
A book like this is worth its weight in 
Californian gold. If people would but read 
it, and digest its contents — but, alas ! this 
involves " thought !" — what a load of misery 
would be spared to children yet unborn ! 


Davidson's Musical Treasury. Song 
of the Dog. By Eliza Cook. — God 
Hath a Voice. By the same Author. 

We have before taken occasion to com- 
mend the establishment whence issue so many 
good and cheap pieces of popular music. 



The two now under notice are part of the 
series ; the poetry of each being by our own 
favorite, Eliza Cook, — the music by Henry 
Aspinall West, R.A.M., who has evidently 
entered feelingly into the task (pleasure ?) 
allotted him, and acquitted himself well. 

Everybody knows the poetry of these 
popular melodies by heart. Let them quickly 
become as well acquainted with their musical 
excellencies ! 




Martin must not die without leaving behind 
him, in our pages, some record of his event- 
ful life. A short summary will suffice to do 
him honor , for his works yet live to speak 
eloquently of his great and singular talent. 

Mr. John Martin, the painter, died at 
Douglas, in the Isle of Man, on the 17th of 
Jan. last, in his 65th year. He was born at 
Haydonbridge,near Hexham, in Northumber- 
land, in 1789, and received his elementary 
education at the free school of that place. 
Having from his earliest years " determined 
to be a painter," and his family having re- 
moved to Newcastle, he was, at fourteen years 
of age, bound apprentice to a coach-builder 
of that town, on the understanding that he 
was to be taught the art of coach and heraldic 
painting ; but, being subjected to the mere 
drudgery of the trade, he, at the end of the 
first year, resented the non-performance of 
the stipulation with spirit and success, the 
magistrates ordering the indentures to be 
cancelled as he wished. 

He was then placed under an Italian draw- 
ing-master, Signor Musso, the father of the 
celebrated Charles Muss, the enamel painter. 
Young Muss having settled in London as a 
glass and china painter, encouraged young 
Martin to come to him, and gave him em- 
ployment under his firm. He arrived in town 
in his eighteenth year, in 180G. Whilst 
working all day at china painting, he spent 
many hours at night in the acquirement of 
those branches of knowledge which he 
deemed essential in the arts, especially archi- 
tecture and perspective. 

In 1809, when twenty years old, he mar- 
ried. About that time the firm to which Mr. 
Muss belonged was dissolved, and the two 
friends were employed by Mr. Collins of the 
Strand. John Martin went on making water- 
color drawings at night, and even contrived 
to paint his first oil picture of " Clytie " for 
the Royal Academy Exhibition of 1810. That 
year it was rejected, but when again offered 
the next season it was received, and tolerably 
well hung in the great room. In 1812 he 
exhibited his " Sadakin Search of the Waters 
of Oblivion," the first striking indication of 

his genius; and in 1815 he obtained £100 
premium at the British Institution for his 
"Joshua Commanding the Sun to Stand 
Still." He produced the " Fall of Babylon ,T 
in 1819; his "Macbeth and the Witches " 
followed; and in 1821 appeared his memor- 
able " Belshazzar's Feast," which produced a 
wonderful sensation, and obtained a premium 
of £200 at the British Institution. The 
" Destruction of Herculaneum " was less suc- 
cessful. Then came the " Seventh Plague ' T 
and the " Paphian Bower ; " the " Creation " 
in 1824, and in 1826 the " Deluge," which 
was afterwards exhibited at the French 

In the full force of his energies he com- 
menced his "Fall of Nineveh," which came 
before the world in 1828. For some years 
subsequently, Mr. Martin's time and industry 
were chiefly employed in engraving from 
his pictures ; and the ingenuity with which 
he applied new modes of varying the texture 
and perspective effects of large mezzotinto 
plates led to the progressive improvement so 
conspicuous in that department of art. But 
whilst thus engaged, he was almost forgotten 
as a painter, and it was only when he pro- 
duced his picture of the " Coronation of 
Queen Victoria " that the world renewed its 
acquaintance with him. His pictures hung 
neglected on his walls : none but men of 
science or artists went to see them, whilst 
his quarrel with the Royal Academy kept 
him from exhibiting. But when the Coro- 
nation picture once more attracted the 
fashionable world, praise and patronage 
returned in full tide. The late Earl Grey 
first purchased his "Arethusa." The Duchess 
of Sunderland next gave him a commission 
for the "Assuaging of the Waters after the 
Deluge." Mr. Fergusson, Prince Albert, and 
Mr. Scarisbrook, became purchasers of his 
finest works. 

Notwithstanding the extraordinary amount 
I of industry spent on his pictures and engrav- 
ings, nearly as much time and the larger 
portions of his earnings were expended on 
engineering plans for the improvement of 
London, the embankment of the Thames, 
and the drainage of the town ; and on the 
ventilation of mines, lighthouses, and the 
improvement of our harbours. The money he 
actually expended on those ingenious projects 
must have exceeded £10,000, a large sum to 
I be taken from the earnings of an artist, who, 
though temperate beyond most men, had his 
house always open to poor relations and a 
large circle of friends. Mr. Martin was 
seized with the illness which has terminated 
his career, on the 12th November. While 
painting and apparently in the enjoyment of 
good health, he was suddenly attacked with 
a paralytic stroke, which deprived him of 
the use of his speech, and of his right 



hand. His family was assured that recovery 
from the attack was improbable, but hope 
was held out that he would not be soon 
taken away. 

About a fortnight after the seizure he 
ceased to take food, except in the very 
smallest quantities, giving his attendants the 
impression that in so doing he was acting on 
some principle which he had accepted in his 
own mind, though he had no longer the 
power to explain the why and wherefore. 
Nothing could induce him to change this 
system of rigid abstinence, and the conse- 
quence was, that nature received inefficient 
sustenance, and he gradually sank until Jan. 
the 17 th, when he ceased to breathe about 
six in the evening. Up to within an hour 
of his death he was conscious, and appeared 
to suffer no pain. His mind kept its tone, 
and his hand its power to the last. He was 
working on pictures illustrative of the Last 
Judgment within a few weeks of his death — 
the "Judgment," the " Day of Wrath," and 
the " Plains of Heaven." On these large 
works he had been employed for the last four 
years, and he may be said to have spent on 
them the last efforts of his genius. He was 
painting on the " Plains of Heaven" within 
an hour of his starting for the little island 
where he breathed his last. Of course these 
works are left unfinished: 

He has left several children — all of them 
grown up. His brother will be remembered 
as having set fire to York Minster some years 
ago, in a fit of mental derangement. Mr. 
Martin was painter to King Leopold and 
other sovereigns on the Continent ; but there 
is no picture by his hand in the National 
Gallery, or in any of our public Collections. 



Though my heart feels delight at the soft balmy 
That comes wafting its perfume to thee, 
And the sweet rushing sound, as it sighs through 
the trees, 
Seems to give us a sense of the free ; 
Yet it still doth the source of the raptures invade 

That, belong to thy lover alone, 
For the kiss that it steals should be mine, dearest 
And the wealth of thy cheek all my own. 

They say that the flow'rs' tender blossoms impart 

To the zephyrs the fragrance they hear — 
They are Nature's bright dewdrops that speak to 
the heart, 

So divinely, so silently fair ! 
But if earth were a desert, dark, barren, and bleak, 

On which the bright sun could not shine, 
Yet still would the air become balmy and sweet 

From its contact with lips such as thine ! 

W. H. 

'Tis pleasant, at the young day's birth, 
When first the sunlight gilds the earth, 
To stand and paint, with Fancy's aid, 
The joys for which the day is made ; — 

To muse on happiness and health — 
Of love and pleasure — honor, wealth, 
Which must, to our fond hearts, be found 
Amid the glorious scenes around. 

We higher climb ; the scene grows bright, 
Enchanting visions meet our sight ; 
The air, like voiceless spirit, seems 
To breathe into our souls sweet dreams — 

Dreams of true friendships — loves, which ne'er 
Shall cause a pang, or cost a tear ; 
Of joys serene — of bliss secure — 
Of fame unsullied, lasting, pure. 

This is the dewy hour of life, 
The hour with morning fragrance rife, 
When lofty hope and high desire, 
The expanding mind with ardor fire ; 

And souls from beauty draw delight, 
Like stars from yonder sun, their light ; 
And, basking in the radiance given, 
Shed back the light of their own Heaven. 

The sun is up within the soul, 
And, though light clouds may sometimes roll, 
And dim awhile the sunshine there, 
They chill no hope, and wake no fear. 

They see that some around are gay, 
And mark the scant locks, shiv'ring, play 
O'er the pale brow — that hands are weak, 
And eyes of coming darkness speak. 

But what age means, young hearts wot not — 
Theirs is a bright and sunny spot, 
Besprent with flowers, which Hope's fair hand 
Still scatters richly o'er the land. 

And still they haste, with joyous feet, 
The upland scenes of life to greet ; 
Where Love spreads fair his kindling beams, 
And gilds young Passion's gushing streams. 


Gone from her cheek is the summer bloom, 
And her lip has lost all its faint perfume ; 
And the gloss has dropped from her golden hair, 
And her cheek is pale, but no longer fair. 

And the spirit that sate on her soft blue eye 
Is struck with cold mortality; 
And the smile that played round her lip has fled, 
And every charm has now left the dead. 

Like slaves they obeyed her in height of power, 
But left her all in her wintry hour ; 
And the crowds that swore for her love to die, 
Shrunk from the tone of her last faint sigh, — , 
And this is man's fidelity ! 

'Tis woman alone, with a purer heart, 
Can see all these idols of love depart, 
And love the more, and smile and bless 
Man in his uttermost wretchedness. 

Barky Cornwall. 





SO fast, that we shall find it 
somewhat difficult to keep 
pace with them. However, 
we will bring them into view, 
one by one ; and what we can- 
not record on paper, we will assuredly 
examine in the open air. 

Among the early visitants in the insect 
world we gladly recognise the gnat. The 
sight of him fills our hearts with rejoicing, as 
the thought of Spring being at our elbow 
immediately suggests itself. Long since has 
he been seen, sunning himself in Sol's golden 
rays ; and many hours of happiness has he 
had whilst pursuing his giddy exhilarating 

We shall have many a glorious morning 
during the present month, and no doubt many 
a quiet stroll where our hero loves to ramble. 
Imagining ourselves in an oak wood, let us 
listen to what a very pleasant writer says 
about the gnat. He is recording his reminis- 
cences of insect life. 

Entering the wood, a sprinkle of snow, crisp 
and glittering, slightly veiled the wood-tracks ; 
and as we trod them, we heard not a sound but 
the little gems breaking on the spangled path- 
way. Our spirits were so light, our blood 
danced so briskly, our heart glowed, like 
our feet, so warmly, and rose so thankfully 
to the Great Source of all things, calm and 
bright and beautiful, that we longed for 
something animate to join us in our homage 
of enjoyment. The wish was hardly conceived 
ere it was accomplished; for on passing 
beneath a canopy of low, interlacing branches, 
we suddenly found ourselves making one with 
a company of gnats— dancing, though more 
mutely, quite as merrily as they could pos- 
sibly have footed it on the balmy air of a 

* We may here remark, that the first grand 
day this year for an observation of the birth of ; 
gnats, was February 26. The morning was one ' 
of extreme loveliness. The sun rose "happily" 
upon the world; and diffused universal jov over 
the whole face of nature throughout the entire 
day. To reckon up the numerous bodies of 
happy gnats (giddy with ecstacy), that started 
into life in all imaginable corners, would be an 
impossibility. The sun's rays performed miracles 
as we walked along. Bees, flies, gnats, beetles ,— 
all met our wondering eye ; nor did vegetation in its 
turn remain idle. Trees and flowers were busy as 
the rest ; and the earth acknowledged gratefully its 
obligations to the Author of all good. We shall 
not soon forget the delights of that day : nor the 
joyousness of our feelings as we contemplated 
tins lovely commencement of Nature's handiwork. 
— Ed. K. J. 

summer's eve. Their appearance was 
welcome to our eyes, not as flowers in May, 
but as flowers in February ; and we sat 
down on one of the oaken stumps hard by, 
to watch their evolutions. Mazy and intricate 
enough, in sooth, they seemed ; yet these 
light-winged figurantes, little as one might 
think it, would seem to have "measure in 
their mirth," aye, and mathematics too ; 
for it is stated as a fact, in Darley's " Geo- 
metrical Companion," that no three of these 
dancers can so place themselves that lines 
joining their point of position shall form 
either more or less than two right angles. 
The set upon which we had intruded was 
an assemblage of those Tipulidan or long- 
legged gnats, which have been named tell- 
tales ; we suppose because by their presence 
in winter they seem to tell a tale of early 
Spring, belied by the bitter east, wdiich often 
tells us another story when we turn from their 
sheltered saloon of assembly. 

In this single instance, however, these are 
not the only tell-tales of their kind ; for quite 
as common, at the same season, are some 
other parties of aerial dancers, one of which 
we fell in with soon after we had taken leave 
of the first. These were tiny sylphs, with 
black bodies and wings of snow-white gauze, 
and like " choice spirits black, white, and 
grey," — for they wore plumes of the latter 
color — they were greeting the quiet young 
year with mirth and revelry ; and that over 
a frozen pool, whose icy presence one would 
have fancied quite enough for their instant 
annihilation. But though warmed hy exercise, 
these merry mates care so little for the cold 
without, they are glad enough, when occasion 
serves, to profit by the shelter of our windows. 
In ours we often watch them ; and you, good 
reader, had better seek for them, unless you 
would miss the sight of as pretty and elegant 
a little creature as any one could desire to 
look at on a fine summer's, much more 
winter's day. 

"We have spoken of the plumes of these 
winged revellers, black, white, and grey, 
which dance in the air as merrily as the 
Quaker's wife in the song ; but here be it 
observed that our gnats' wives, with real 
Quaker- like sobriety, rarely, if ever, dance 
at all, and never by any accident wear 
feathers. They may do work, as we shall 
perhaps discover by and by ; but as for 
plumes, in poetic phrase, " feathered antlers," 
--in scientific, "pectinate antenna" these are 
decorations of vanity exclusively confined 
among all gnats to the masculine gender. 
Gnats' balls, therefore, contrary to usual 
custom, are made up of beaux. 

'Tis merry in the hall when beards wag all, 

says the morose proverb, steeped in the 
boozing barbarism of days gone by ; and these 

Vol. V.— li. 



ungallant flies would seem still to think it 
merry in the air when their dames are not 

Though courting the winter's gleam, every- 
body can tell that gnats by no means hide 
their heads with the summer sun, for they 
seem to rejoice at his setting as much as at 
his rising, — in his absence as well as in his 
presence. In short, at every hour, as at 
every season, " Dansez towours " seems their 
motto : up and down, in and out, and round 
about, in the morning, noon, and evening of 
our day, as in the morning, noon, and evening 
of their own existence. 

But stay ! here we are arrived at the end 
of the dance, nay, at the end of our dancers' 
lives, without having said a word about their 
beginning. Well, we have nothing for it but 
to go backwards, jumping over the steps 
already made, up to the premier pas, our 
aerial performers' birth and parentage. 
Everybody, we conclude, has a general notion 
concerning the passage of a butterfly through 
the successive stages of caterpillar, chrysalis, 
and winged flutterer. Then only let it be 
borne in mind that all perfect insects have 
passed through three stages corresponding, 
though not similar, which are yclept by 
entomologists those of larva, pupa, and 

Now for the commencement of the gnat's 
life of buoyancy, which commences in the 
water. Man has been believed by the nations 
of antiquity to have 

Learn'd of the little Nautilus to sail, 

Spread the thin oar, and catch the rising gale ; 

but he might also have taken a first lesson 
in boat-building from an object common in 
almost every pond, though, certainly, not so 
likely to attract attention as the sailing craft 
of that bold mariner, the little Argonaut. 
This object is a boat of eggs ; not a boat egg- 
laden, nor yet that witches' transport, an 
egg-shell boat, but a buoyant life-boat, curi- 
ously constructed of her eggs by the common 
gnat. How she begins and completes her 
work may be seen by any one curious enough, 
and wakeful enough, to repair by five or six 
in a morning to a pond or bucket of water, 
frequented by gnats. The boat itself, with 
all we are going to describe, and all we have 
depicted from the life may be seen at home, 
and at all hours, within the convenient com- 
pass of a basin filled from an adjacent pond. 
When complete, the boat consists of from 
250 to 350 eggs, of which, though each is 
heavy enough to sink in water, the whole 
compose a structure perfectly buoyant — so 
buoyant as to float amidst the most violent 
agitation. What is yet more wonderful, 
though hollow, it never fills with water; 
and even if we push it to the bottom of our 
mimic pool, it will rise unwetted to the sur- 

face. This cunning craft has been likened 
to a London wherry, being sharp and high 
fore and aft, convex below, concave above, 
and always floating on its keel. In a few 
days each of the numerous lives within, 
having put on the shape of a grub or larva, 
issues from the lower end of its own flask- 
shaped egg ; but the empty shells continuing 
still attached, the boat remains a boat till 
reduced by weather to a wreck. 

There let us leave it, and follow the fortunes 
of one of the crew after he has left his cabin 
which he quits in rather a singular manner, 
emerging through its bottom into the water. 
Happily, however, he is born a swimmer 
and can take his pleasure in his native element, 
poising himself near its surface, head down- 
wards, tail upwards. Why chooses he this 
strange position ? Just for the same reason 
that we rather prefer, when taking a dabble 
in the waves, to have our heads above water, 
— for the convenience, namely, of receiving a 
due supply of air, which the little swimmer 
in question sucks in through a sort of tube in 
his tail. This breathing apparatus, as well 
as the tail itself, serves also for a buoy, and 
both end in a sort of funnel, composed of 
hairs arranged in a star-like form, and anoint- 
ed with an oil by which they repel water. 

When tired of suspension near the surface, 
our little swimmer has only to fold up these 
divergent hairs, and plump he sinks down to 
the bottom. He goes, however, provided 
with the means of re-ascension — a globule of 
air, which the oil enables him to retain at his 
funnel's ends, on re-opening which he again 
rises whenever the fancy takes him. But 
yet a little while, and a new era arrives in 
the existence of this buoyant creature ; — 
buoyant in his first stage of larva, in his 
second of pupa he is buoyant still. Yet, in 
resemblance, how unlike ! But lately topsy- 
turvy, his altered body first assumes what we 
should call its natural position, and he swims, 
head upwards, because within it there is now 
contained a different, but equally curious 
apparatus for inhaling the atmospheric fluid. 
Seated behind his head arises a pair of resr 
pirators, not very much tinlike the aural 
appendages of an ass, to which they have 
been compared ; and through these he feeds 
on air, requiring no grosser aliment. At his 
nether extremity there expands a fish- like, 
finny tail, by help of which he can either 
float or strike at pleasure through the water. 

Thus passes with our buoyant pupa the 
space of about a week ; and then another, 
and a more important change comes " o'er 
the spirit of his dream." With the gradual 
development of superior organs, the little 
spark of sensitivity within seems aw T akened 
to a new desire to rise upwards. Fed for a 
season upon air, the insect's desires seem to 
have grown aerian. 



While a noon-day sun is warm upon the 
water, as yet his native element, he rises to 
the surface, and above it, elevating both head 
and shoulders, as if gasping for the new enjoy- 
ments which await him. His breast swells, 
as it were, with the sweet anticipation ; his 
confining corslet bursts ; and the head — not 
that which has played its part on the stage 
of being now about to close, but another — 
all plumed and decorated for a more brilliant 
theatre, emerges through the rent, followed 
by the shoulders and the filmy wings which 
are to play upon the air. But have a care, 
my little debutant ! Thou art yet upon the 
water ; an unlucky somerset would wet thy 
still soft and drooping pinions, and render 
them unfit for flight. Now is thy critical 
moment — hold thee steady — lose not thy 
perpendicular, or — but why fear we for the 
little mariner? He who clothes the lily and 
feeds the sparrow, has provided him support in 
this his hour of peril. The stiff covering of 
his recent form, from which he is struggling 
to escape, now serves him as a life-boat, the 
second to which he will owe his safety. His 
upright body forms its mast as well as sail ; 
and in the breeze now rippling the water, he 
is wafted rapidly along. He will assuredly 
be capsized from press of sail. But see, he 
has acquired by this time other helps to aid 
his self-preserving efforts. His slender legs, 
hitherto hung pendant, now feel for and find 
the surface of the pool. His boat is left 
behind, and, still endowed with an aquatic 
power, he stands a moment on the water, then 
rises buoyant, a winged inhabitant of air ! 



I can hid adieu to grandeur 

Without one fond regret, 
And part with pomp and pageantry 

As gaily as we met. 
I think on thee, and o'er my heart 

Love weaves a secret spell; 
Oh it is hard indeed to part, — 

To breathe the word " Farewell !" 

In vain I join the happy throng, 

My spirit yearns for thee; 
The sportive dance, the merry song, 

Have now no charms forme. 
A sadness o'er my spirit came, 

Where joy was wont to dwell; 
Mv lips refus'd to breathe thy name, 

To add the word " Farewell !" 

I'm pledg'd, e'en with my latest breath 

To shield my country's laws ; 
To brave both penury and death, 

In freedom's noble cause ; 
But ah ! I must this subject shun, 

I dare not on it dwell ; 
May Heaven bless thee, dearest one ! 

I cannot say, — " Farewell !" 



The sweet violet has been, from the 
most ancient times, a favorite of poets, and 
an object of pursuit to all who can relish 
simple and innocent pleasures. It eminently 
unites simplicity, elegance, and modest grace, 
with a delicious fragrance. Homer places 
it in the garden of Calypso, and from his 
time downwards the allusions to it by the 
poets are far too numerous for us to attempt 
either enumeration or selection. 

The sweet violet grows with us on banks 
by the sides of fields and roads, often by the 
borders of streams, generally in considerable 
quantities together ; its characteristic mode 
of growth, by runners, contributing to extend 
it where it has once obtained a footing. It 
requires a pure air, and can hardly be kept 
alive amidst the smoke of cities. It often 
flowers in the latter part of February, and 
March may be considered as its proper period 
of blooming ; but there is a variety now com- 
mon in gardens, which flowers at nearly all 
seasons, so that by a little management and 
protection in the worst weather, a never- 
failing supply may be obtained. There is a 
very pretty white or cream-colored variety 
nearly as common in most parts of England 
as the purple one, and quite as fragrant. It 
is strictly the same species, differing only in 
color, but it appears to be a permanent variety 
continued by seed, not a mere individual 
peculiarity. Pale blue, lilac, and red varieties 
are less common, but occasionally occur. 

Both the purple and white are also found 
double in gardens ; and, as in this flower the 
fragrance arises from the flower-leaves or 
petals themselves, there is an increased 
sweetness in the double varieties that gives 
them a just claim to attention, though the 
single might, perhaps, be thought more 
beautiful. The most usual way in which a 
flower becomes double, is by the organs 
called stamens, which form the third circle, 
changing Into petals the parts of the second 
circle ; and this is generally accompanied by 
an indefinite multiplication of the pieces, 
whilst any peculiar development of any 
part of a circle, as one petal of a violet, or 
a nasturtium running out into a spur, is lost 
in the double flower. In some instances, the 
inner circle, consisting of the seed-bearing 
organs, called by botanists carpels, is also 
changed into colored flat pieces, resembling 
petals, as in double anemones, where the 
two kinds of parts in the double flower can 
be well distinguished. Sometimes, as in 
the double cherry, the carpels appear as 
green leaves in the middle of the double 
flower : but most commonly, as happens in 
the violet, the inner circle remains unchanged, 
or is almost suppressed. 



The sweet violet, like some others of its 
family, is liable to another change, the reverse 
of doubling. Its later flowers are frequently 
altogether without petals, and these are 
believed to be peculiarly fertile, the nutri- 
ment being all concentrated in the parts 
which remain. There is, likewise, a variety 
in which the number of spurs is increased. 

The violet has all the four circles of parts, 
and none multiplied so as to exceed the 
characteristic number of the class to which 
it belongs, which is five ; the inner circle 
has, indeed, only three parts. In the ex- 
terior or calyx circle, we may easily notice that 
three of the pieces stand a little outside the 
other two. To these three principal sepals 
(to make use of the very convenient botanical 
name of the parts of the exterior circle, which, 
as a whole, is called the calyx, or cup) the 
three carpels correspond ; and we must con- 
sider the two other pieces of the complete 
circle as being suppressed from their interior 
position, and the pressure of the exterior 
circles, which causes the three carpels to 
unite by their edges into one seed-vessel. 

The sepals are distinct, and but slightly 
irregular in position and magnitude, resem- 
bling small, narrow leaves, and having eacli 
of them a leafy appendage at the bottom, 
which is characteristic of the family. The 
five petals stand all distinct ; the one which, 
from the position of the flower, is the lowest, 
receiving the greatest share of nutriment, 
and being in consequence marked with more 
color on the nerves, and lengthened out into 
a hollow spur behind. The stamens are 
broad below ; the anther cases open inwards, 
and they are crested at the top. The same 
irregularity which causes the lower petal to 
enlarge into a spur, causes each of the two 
stamens nearest to it to send down little 
spurs, which enter that formed by the petal. 
These are curious, and are perhaps generally 
overlooked. The irregularity in the violet 
tribe is slight, chiefly affecting the circle of 
petals, and by no means extending to all the 

Where several carpels unite to form one 
seed vessel, it is much the most common for 
each one to be folded on itself, like a pea- 
pod, which is one carpel ; and for the whole 
number to cling together by their broad 
surfaces, so that all the seeds, which are 
always on the edges of the carpels, are 
brought together in the axis ; and the whole 
seed-vessel, when cut horizontally, shows as 
many distinct cells as there are carpels, each 
having its own seeds. The carpels of the 
violet only join by their edges, so that the 
whole seed-vessel is but one cell, and the 
seeds are not found in the axis, but, so to 
speak, in the walls of the seed-vessel on three 
lines, where the carpels unite. The union of 
the carpels is so complete, that when the 

seed-vessel dries, and must open, the split is 
down the middle of each carpel, instead of 
on the lines of junction ; and thus, when the 
ripe capsule has opened into three pieces, 
called valves, we see the seeds in a line down 
the middle of each, instead of on the two 
edges of each, according to their natural 
position. On carefully opening the little 
seed, we find a straight embryon in the axis 
of a fleshy albumen. 

Every one is acquainted with the heart- 
shaped leaves of the violet, nearly free from 
hairs, with their margins cut in the manner 
that botanists call crenate (the portions of 
the edge being rounded) ; standing on long 
footstalks, and with small, sharp, mem- 
branous additional leaves, of the kind called 
stipules, at their base. The sweet violet is 
distinguished by not having a branched leafy 
stem, and by producing runners that form 
new plants, like the strawberry. 

The received botanical name of the sweet 
violet is Viola odorata (scented violet). 
Besides the heartsease, or pansy, which has 
plainly the characters of a violet, and belongs 
to the genus, there are several wilrl British 
species, and three or four very desirable 
cultivated ones ; not to refer to the many 
little known in this country, the whole genus 
in 1824 having above 100 species, published 
in De Candolle's great work ; but none of 
them can rival the sweet violet. Who has 
not delightful recollections of violet hunting 
excursions in opening spring — sweet memo- 
ries of fragrant banks rewarding adventurous 
search — and of treasures of perfumed love- 
liness conveyed to dear ones at home, who 
could not partake in the chase ? We hardly 
know whether the white or the purple variety 
is most to be admired. As they modestly 
peep from beneath the shelter of their 
clustered leaves, their sweet breath first 
betraying them to the passer-by, both are 
irresistible in their charms. In our gardens 
we delight in the double varieties, and of 
late years we have added to them the ever- 
blooming sort already referred to, by means 
of which the metropolis is supplied with 
sweet bouquets at every season. 

We need hardly say that the name Violet 
is a diminutive form from the Latin Viola, 
which originally belonged to the species of 
which we are speaking, and is extended as 
the botanical name for the family, of which 
it is the most interesting member. Some 
have derived viola from the Latin name for 
a way — via; as if it meant "way-side 
flower ;" but it is manifestly the Latin form 
of the Greek name ion, which is supposed to 
express the dark purple of the flower. Many 
words, transferred from Greek to Latin, 
which, in their original language begin with 
a vowel, commence in Latin with the semi- 
consonant v ; and in giving the name its 

feminine termination, which pleased the 
Latins, instead of the Greek neuter, the liquid 
I was required to keep two vowels asunder. 
These are familiar and natural changes, and 
the best etymologists are agreed that the 
derivation admits of no doubt. 

The violets are exogenous plants, with the 
parts of the three outer circles, a complete 
single series in each, all distinct, disposed to 
irregularity, chiefly in the petals ; the stamens 
all perfect, with their anthers crested, turned 
inwards ; carpels three coherent ; seeds with 
albumen. This character belongs to the 
order violaceae, but will distinguish the genus 
also from all with which our readers are 
likely to compare it. We have already 
pointed out the marks by which this par- 
ticular species, Viola odorata, is known ; and 
the smell would remove all doubt, if other 
marks were not clearly understood. 


In selecting a few familiar and favorite 
flowers as the subjects of illustration (which 
we hope may serve at once to extend a know- 
ledge of the true principles of botanical 
science, and to cultivate a taste for the 
rational study of the beautiful objects which 
surround us on all sides), we cannot think of 
passing by the primrose, a flower of the 
present season, one which is within almost 
everybody's reach ; since, whilst the hand of 
Nature plentifully scatters it over the banks 
and through the thickets, there are few 
gardens which do not contain it in its natural 
state, or in some of its varieties ; often 
mingled, too, with kindred forms, which may 
be profitably compared with it ; and even in 
the heart of crowded cities, the demand for 
this much-loved flower awakens the industry 
of some rustic merchant adventurer, who 
brings round his well-stocked basket of 
blooming roots, from which the flower-pots 
and window-boxes of the poor artisan, as well 
as the borders of the little suburban garden, 
are cheaply supplied. 

It is, perhaps, an additional recommenda- 
tion to our notice on the present occasion, 
that the primrose differs widely in structure 
from the plants which we have previously 
examined, and thus gives opportunity for 
explaining the application of the principles we 
have laid down to forms apparently the most 
opposed and inconsistent, which will be made 
to manifest their common relationships, and 
mutually to throw light on each other. 

After the fundamental differences which 
divide all flowering plants into exogenous and 
endogenous, the most obvious distinction con- 
sists in the circles of which the flower is 
composed being single of each kind, or one 
or more kinds either omitted or multiplied ; 
in these circles being separate, or adhering 
one upon another ; in the several pieces of 

each circle remaining separate, or cohering 
by their edges, so as to seem to form but 
one ; and in the organs of the several circles 
being equally or unequally developed. 

The winter aconite belongs to an order cha- 
racterised by the separation of all its parts, 
and is likewise regular. The violet has its 
interior circle — that of the carpels, united by 
coherence into a compound seed-vessel, 
though the pressure is not very close. It 
also exhibits irregularity in its petals and 
stamens. The primrose is perfectly regular, 
but all the circles have their parts coherent, 
and there is a remarkable adherence of the 
petals and stamens, including between them 
an abortive outer circle of stamens, of which 
in general slight traces remain, but attention 
to which is nevertheless important for giving 
a true idea of the flower. The inner or car- 
pellary circle also claims very particular 

The primrose has an almost fleshy root 
with long fibres, numerous leaves spring from 
the stem immediately above the ground, of 
an obovate-oblong figure (that is, somewhat 
egg-shaped, with the larger end outwards, 
but disproportionately lengthened below), ir- 
regularly toothed, soft, downy, and wrinkled, 
tapering gradually into broad leafstalks, 
with the margin folded back in the younger 
ones. These leaves decay without dropping 
off, and the lower portions of the leaf-stalk 
remaining attached to the stem, swell into 
reservoirs of nourishment, converting the 
fleshy stem into what has been called a 
notched or jointed root, the stem sinking 
into the ground, and sending forth fresh 
fibres from above each remnant of a leaf. 
The flowers proceed, a number of them 
together, from one common rudiment of a 
stalk, which is sometimes elevated (espe- 
cially in gardens) so as to have the appear- 
ance of the oxlip or polyanthus. Each 
flower is large, of the pleasing, pale sulphur 
color, which takes the name of primrose, 
with a darker radiating spot in the middle, 
and sweet-scented. 

The calyx, or outer circle, has its five 
sepals cohering for about two-thirds of their 
length into a tubular, five-angled cup. The 
corolla is salver-shaped, with the five petals 
cohering into a tube, separating only in the 
border. The five stamens adhere with the 
corolla, so as to appear to spring from its 
tube, their insertion being sometimes very 
low, so that they are concealed from view ; 
sometimes so high as to fill the mouth of the 
tube, which makes the florist's distinction 
of pin-eyed and thumb-eyed, but always 
opposite to the petals. This is a characteris- 
tic peculiarity of the tribe ; and as the gene- 
ral law is for the parts of the circles to 
alternate w T ith one another, we are naturally 
led to seek for some explanation ( hi examina- 



tion,we perceive that the throat of the corolla, 
above the insertion of the stamens, has a 
little border of five rounded parts placed 
alternately between the petals and stamens, 
and unquestionably representing an inter- 
mediate circle of abortive stamens, which by 
pressure is amalgamated with the corolla. In 
the poorest primroses the stamens are lowest 
in the tube, and the border of the eye is 
least developed : hence the enlarged full 
throat and the thumb-eye are approved by 
florists in all the primrose tribe, in the 
auricula and polyanthus as well as the 
primrose itself. 

As we have here proposed a theory to ex- 
plain the peculiar position of the stamens in 
the primrose tribe, we will mention in justi- 
fication of it, that in some species of Lysi- 
machia, the loose- strife, w T hich belongs to 
the same tribe, the five additional organs are 
seen as a set of pointed filaments more or 
less approaching the aspect of stamens, 
inserted between the petals ; and in another 
genus, Samolus, they evidently resemble 
barren or imperfect stamens in the same po- 
sition. The five carpels cohere so completely 
to their very points, as to form an ovate seed- 
vessel with a pin-shaped pistil, appearing 
like a single organ. The coherence being by 
the edges of the carpellary leaves, the capsule 
is one- celled ; but what is very remarkable, 
the seeds, instead of appearing along the line 
of junction of the pieces, as in the violet, are 
on the surface of a central receptacle forming 
a sort of knob. The usual explanation of this 
structure is, that only the lower part of the 
carpellary leaf is allowed to perfect its germs ; 
and that these lower seed-bearing portions 
unite into the central receptacle, while the 
remaining portion of the leaves forms the 

This explanation is far from being satis- 
factory ; and we are tempted to suppose that 
the receptacle is a prolongation of the axis 
of the flowers, that the outer circle of car- 
pellary leaves produces no germs, but merely 
forms the envelope, whilst each leaf on the 
produced axis, instead of becoming a carpel, 
becomes a germ. In fact, if we properly 
seize and follow out analogies, the rudiment 
within the seed is a sort of bud, and the seed- 
case a transformation of its accompanying 
leaf. Some eminent botanists maintain, that 
in all cases the seed really proceeds from the 
axis, not from the border of the leaf. But 
there are sufficient instances in nature of 
actual buds being produced on leaves, and 
in a large class of seed-vessels we take the 
explanation of the seeds being borne on the 
margin of the carpels to be indisputable ; 
we must, however, acknowledge that there is 
no reason why they should not be also pro- 
duced, like the majority of common buds, 
upon the axis, and we therefore make it our 

inquiry, which view can be best supported in 
each particular case ? Now there are mon- 
strosities of the primrose tribe, in which the 
seeds are actually transformed into small 
leaves ; and from these we are disposed to 
conclude that in this tribe the circle of carpels 
only protects a terminal portion of the axis 
on which all the leaves become seeds. We 
are here leading our readers into one of the 
difficult questions of theoretical botany; 
but it is curious and interesting, and if, as we 
hope, we have made our meaning intelligible, 
they will not be sorry to see how different 
botany is from a mere science of names, and 
how much there is to think upon — what 
various evidence must be weighed, before we 
understand the structure of a very simple 

If any of our readers should compare our 
description of the primrose with those which 
occur in books, they will remark material 
differences in the language employed. We 
have recognised five sepals and five petals 
cohering together ; a point which we cannot 
but think very important ; yet, not to refer- 
to older or less eminent writers, Dr. Lindley, 
in describing the tribe for his Vegetable King- 
dom, though really taking in these particulars 
the view of the structure which we have 
given, calls the calyx Jive-cleft, and the corolla 
monopetalous — language which implies the 
singleness of the organ, instead of the union 
of its pieces ; and in the eighth part of De 
Candolle's Prodromus, the very work (con- 
tinued by his son since his death) of the great 
reformer of our ideas and language on these 
subjects, the learned author of the article on 
the Primrose tribe, Duby, not only every- 
where uses the common inaccurate language, 
but is guilty of employing the term monope- 
talous, though his eminent master adopted the 
name sepals for the leaves of the calyx, ex- 
pressly in order to get rid of the misleading 
term, one-leaved, and to make it easy to mark 
the real structure, whether the sepals in the 
particular case should be distinct, or in 
various degrees united. We hope to be ex- 
cused for endeavoring to correct these over- 
sights of distinguished men, and using words 
that convey at once the acknowledged truths. 
Well-instructed men of science are not misled 
by language which is common, though founded 
on opinions now abandoned ; but if we want 
to make the truths of science generally intel- 
ligible and interesting, we must adopt terms 
that cannot be mistaken. 

The primrose varies in color to white, lilac, 
various reddish or purple shades, and a deep 
rich crimson. The best of these colors have 
also been obtained double, and are beautiful 
and favorite garden flowers. Linn^us 
thought the primrose, the oxlip, and the 
| cowslip, only varieties of one species, and 
I forms are to be met with which almost seem 



to justify this opinion ; but it is on the whole 
more convenient to admit the three plants as 
distinct. If we had not already exceeded 
bounds, we could say much of the best known 
foreign species and cultivated varieties of 
the primrose, especially the auricula and the 
polyanthus, but we must not indulge our- 

The favorite names, rose and violet, were of 
very vague and extensive application among 
our ancestors, and primrose (prima rasa) 
first flower of the season, marks the favor 
with which this plant was regarded. 

The botanical name now received in this 
country is primula vulgaris, but it is the P. 
acaulis of Curtis's London Flora, and the P. 
grandifiora of Duby in De Candolle's Trod- 
romus, a work of great authority, much 
referred to. The natural order is called 
Prirmdacea', and contains many well known 
plants — all herbaceous, with a capsular many- 
seeded fruit, having a free central receptacle 
for the seeds and the stamens opposite the 
petals; the straight embryo in the midst 
of albumen, and lying parallel with the 

W. Hincks, F.L.S. 


(Continued from Page 99.) 

No. 44. Eggs. — In North Nottinghamshire 
there exists a species of superstition against 
letting eggs out of the house after sunset. 
The Nottingham Journal, alluding to this 
species of ignorance, says, " A friend of ours 
the other day, in want of some eggs, called at 
a respectable farmhouse in East Markham, 
and inquired of the good woman of the house 
whether she had any eggs to sell. She 
replied that she had a few scores to dispose 
of. '* Then I'll take them home with me in 
the cart," was the answer. To this she some- 
what indignantly replied, " No you will not. 
Don't you know that the sun has gone down? 
You are welcome to the eggs at a proper 
time of the day, but I will not let them go 
out of the house after the sun is set, on any 
consideration whatever." Can this be true 
in enlightened 1854? 

45. The Raven. — The raven is almost 
coeval with man. In the best and most 
ancient of all books, we read (Genesis viii. 7), 
that at the end of forty days after the great 
flood had covered the earth, Noah, wishing 
to ascertain whether or no the waters had 
abated, sent forth a raven, which did not 
return into the ark. This is the first notice 
taken of this bird. Though the raven was 
declared unclean by the law of Moses, yet 
we are informed, that when the prophet 
Elijah provoked the enmity of Ahab by 

prophesying against him, and hid himself by 
the brook Cherith, the ravens were appointed 
by Heaven to bring him his daily food (2 
Kings, xvii. 5 — 6). The color of the raven 
has given rise to a similitude in one of the 
most beautiful strains, which has been perpe- 
tuated in all subsequent ages ; it is not the 
less pleasing for being proverbial. The 
favorite of the royal lover of Jerusalem, in 
the enthusiasm of affection, thus describes 
the object of her adoration, in reply to the 
following question : — 

What is thy beloved more than another beloved, 
O thou fairest among women ? 

My beloved is white and ruddy, the chiefest among 
Ten thousand. His head is as the most fine gold, 
His locks are bushy, and black as a raven. 

This ill-fated bird has, from time immemorial, 
been the innocent subject of vulgar obloquy 
and detestation ! 

Augury, or the art of foretelling future 
events by the flight, cries, or motions of 
birds, descended from the Chaldeans to the 
Greeks, thence to the Etrurians, and from 
them it was transmitted to the Romans. That 
the practice of augury is very ancient, we 
learn from the Hebrew lawgiver, who pro- 
hibits it, as well as every other kind of divi- 
nation. (Deut. chap, xviii.) The Romans 
derived the knowledge of augury chiefly from 
the Tuscans, or Etrurians, who practised it 
in the earliest times. This art was known in 
Italy before the time of Romulus, since that 
prince did not commence the building of 
Rome till he had taken the Auguria. The 
successors of Romulus, from a conviction of 
the usefulness of the science, and at the same 
time not to render it contemptible by becoming 
too familiar, employed the most, skilful 
augurers from Etruria to introduce the prac- 
tice into their religious ceremonies ; and by 
a decree of the Senate, some of the youth of 
the best families were annually sent to 
Tuscany to be instructed in this art. (See 
Cicero de Divin.) 

The ancients were not the only people 
infected by this species of superstition. The 
moderns, though favored with the light of 
Christianity, have exhibited as much folly, 
through the impious curiosity of prying into 
futurity, as the Romans themselves. It is 
true that modern nations have not instituted 
their sacred colleges for the purpose of divi- 
nation ; but in all countries there have been 
self-constituted augurs, whose interpretations 
of omens have been received with vulgar 
! respect by the credulous multitudes. Even 
i at this moment, in some parts of the world, 
if a raven alights on a village church, the 
whole fraternity is in an uproar, and Heaven 
is importuned in all the ardor of devotion, to 
avert the impending calamity. 

On a very recent occasion (See " Notes 



and Queries," vol. vii., p. 496), at au ordi- 
nary meeting of the guardians of the poor, an 
application was made by the relieving officer 
on behalf of a single woman residing in the 
small village of Altarnun. The cause of 
seeking relief was stated to be "grief;' 1 and 
on asking for an explanation, the officer stated 
that the applicant's inability to work was 
owing to depressed spirits, produced by the 
flight of a croaking raven over her dwelling 
on the morning of his visit to the village. 
The pauper was by this circumstance, in con- 
nection with its well-known ominous cha- 
racter, actually frightened into a state of 
wretched, nervous depression, which induced 
physical want. 

The poets have taken advantage of this 
weakness of human nature ; and in their 
hands the raven is a fit instrument of terror. 
Shakspeare puts the following malediction 
into the mouth of his Caliban : — 

As wicked dew as e'er my mother brush'd 
"With raven's feathers from unwholesome fen, 
Drop on you both ! 

The ferocious wife of Macbeth, on being ad- 
vised of the approach of Duncan, thus 
exclaims : — 

The raven himself is hoarse 

That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan 

Under my battlements. 

The Moor of Venice says : — 

It comes o'er my memory 
As doth the raven o'er this infected house, 
Boding evil to all. 

The last quotation alludes to the supposed 
habit of this bird flying over those houses 
which contain sick persons whose dissolu- 
tion is at hand, and thereby announced. 
Thus, Marlowe, in the "Jew of Malta," as 
cited by Malone, says : — 

The sad presaging raven tolls 
The sick man's passport in her hollow beak, 
And in the shadow of the silent night 
Doth shake contagion from her sooty wing. 

46. Welsh Legend of the Redbre'ast. 
— Far, far, far away is a land of woe, dark- 
ness, spirits of evil, and fire. Day by day 
does the little bird bear in his bill a drop of 
water to quench the flames. So near to the 
burning stream does he fly, that his feathers 
are scorched, and hence he is named Bron- 
rhuddyn (breast-burnt). The robin returns 
from the land of fire, and therefore he feels 
the cold of winter more than other birds. Oh ! 
then, in giatitude throw a few crumbs to 
poor redbreast ! 

47. The Cockchafer. — In Somerset, 
Devon, Cornwall, and other counties, this 
common and injurious insect is known by the 
vulgar name of oak- web. 

Middle Street, Taunioa, 
March 15. 


BY F. J. GALL, . M.D. 

(Continued from Page 102.^ 

We cannot deny that certain individuals 
have hereditary propensities to crimes, and even 
to those of tLe most atrocious character. Helve- 
tius himself, the great antagonist of the innateness 
of the qualities of the mind and soul, is obliged to 
allow " that there are men so unfortunately 
constituted as never to be happy but in doing 
deeds which will send them to the gallows." 
Cardinal Polignac, also, speaks of men " born 
vicious ; for whom crime has actual charms, and 
who are borne along by a furious passion, which 
obstacles only irritate." 

Thus far, however, the propensities of which I 
speak are not of the number of those which evince 
an actual alienation. These propensities render 
the most energetic measures necessary, and crimi- 
nals of this description cannot be tolerated in 
society. The greater part, according to the ex- 
pression of M. de Sonnenfels, " ought to be slain, 
as we slay wild beasts, to prevent their destroying 
the human race." 

It has been objected to me, that these persons 
ought not to be judged by their organisation. 
It is not pretended that they should be. But it 
is desirable to prove the reality of these facts, and 
to explain them by this perverse organisation, 
that people may cease to accuse the voluntary 
perversity of these monsters. 

Let us quit this painful subject, to notice those 
cases in which we may pronounce with confidence 
on the absence of moral liberty ; and, conse- 
quently, the impossibility of admitting moral 
guilt, or any kind of responsibility. Such are 
those cases, in which illegal actions may be con- 
sidered as doue from imbecility of mind, mental 
alienation, or certain derangements of the natural 
state of health. 

It will, perhaps, be said that the acts of imbe- 
cile or deranged persons are not subject to the 
operation of criminal laws. But my researches on 
this subject will throw great light on the preceding 
discussion; and, on the other hand, it appears 
to me essential to determine with the greatest 
precision, the circumstances in which one of the 
cases mentioned really occurs. I shall treat 
separately of each of these subjects. 

Application of my Principles to illegal Acts 
which result from a peculiar weakness of the 
Mental Faculties. 

I here make use of the expression, peculiar 
iveakness of the mental faculties, because I am 
treating only of actions which are the consequence 
of a greater or less inbecility of mind. I shall 
not speak of acts which flow from complete and 
general stupidity of intellect. These last acts 
being purely involuntary or automatic, have not 
even the appearance of moral liberty, and can 
by no means form the subject of my present 

Among the young boys who were brought to 
us in one of the prisons of Berlin (Stadt-Vogtey), 
there was one who particularly attracted our 
attention. We advised that he should not be set 

at liberty, because he would not be restrained 
from a continuance of his robberies. We added 
that the best thing which could be done, was to 
keep him always in a place of security. We 
communicated our reasons to those who accom- 
panied us. They consulted the register, and 
found, to their great surprise, that this young boy 
had, from his earliest infancy, shown the most 
obstinate propensity to theft. Our adversaries 
availed themselves of this opportunity to place in 
the strongest light what they were pleased to find 
frightful and dangerous in my doctrine. " To 
condemn," said they, "a young boy to perpetual 
imprisonment, because he has committed a theft ; 
what can be more cruel orrevolting to humanity ?" 

What reason had we then, to give this advice ? 
I have already made evident that we ought to 
consider man in two points of view ; first, 
as having qualities common with animals ; that is 
to say, those of an inferior order ; then, as being 
endowed with the character of humanity, or with 
qualities of a superior order. I have also shown 
that man, by means of his superior qualities, is 
capable of subduing and directing his propensities 
of an inferior order. But, if the qualities of a 
superior order are controlled in an extraordinary 
manner, to such a degree that their free action is 
prevented, while those of the inferior order, on the 
contrary, are active, — then the animal part of the 
man predominates exclusively, and the flesh, or 
the brutal desires, hold in subjection the spirit, or 
the dispositions of the superior qualities, which are 
hardly developed. With such an organisation for 
those functions of the soul, which belongs to a su- 
perior order, the same happens which takes place 
in regard to each organ whose development is 
defective ; that is, there results a relative im- 
becility, and, in consequence, the incapacity of 
acting morally; while the propensities of an in- 
ferior order act with uncontrolled energy. Such 
an individual finds himself under an absolute ne- 
cessity to act solely from the impulse of the pas- 
sion which governs him; and his organisation 
often places him in a worse state for self-govern- 
ment, than that of a-well organised animal. This 
imbecility does not always exclude other very 
active properties, which are common to animals, 
such as that of cunning; so that this same indi- 
vidual, even while abandoning himself to a guilty 
and irresistible inclination, seems, in this respect, 
to act with reflection and deliberation. It is thus, 
that the most stupid idiots often find means the 
most ingenious to satisfy their brutal wantonness 
or their mischievous desires. 

Such was the condition of the young robber of 
whom I have just spoken. The superior organs 
had but a defective development ; that organ, on 
the contrary, whose too great activity leads to 
theft, had acquired a great degree of development 
and energy, and this mischievous quality was 
likewise seconded by the activity of cunning. 
This man was short and thick-set ; his forehead 
was very low, depressed back immediately above 
the eyebrows, very sloping laterally above the 
eyes, but broad and salient towards the temples. 
His physiognomy announced no attention for 
reasonable subjects ; nothing could be there dis- 
covered but cunning and malice. Was it, then, 
very difficult to conclude from the organisation of 
this simpleton that he must be incorrigible ? 

To make evident this species of imbecility, 
which excludes all moral liberty, I exhibit in my 
lectures the skull of an individual organised in 
the same manner. It was a young man of fifteen 
years, who died in the prisons at Vienna. From 
his infancy, he had constantly stolen, notwith- 
standing the severest punishments. His skull is 
ill-formed, and announces a constitution originally 
rickety, one of the sides of the cranium projects 
before, the other behind. The forehead is low and 
depressed ; the anterior lateral parts of the temples 
are large, but the total cranium is small. What 
benefit can be expected from punishments and 
houses of correction in regard to half-human be- 
ings like this ? We saw in the prison of Berne, a 
boy of twelve years, ill organised and rickety, who 
could never prevent himself from stealing : with 
bis own pockets full of bread, he still took that of 
others. At Haina, the overseers gave us a long 
account of an obstinate robber, named Fessel- 
mayer, whom no corporal punishment could cor- 
rect. In the prison he stole every thing he saw ; 
and they had put on his arm a card which served 
as a mark of disgrace, warning others not to trust 
him. Before seeing him, we anticipated what 
his organisation must be, and our expectation was 
confirmed at the very first glance. He appeared 
about sixteen years of age, though in fact he was 
twenty-six. His head was round, and about the 
size of a child of one year. This individual was 
also deaf and dumb, which often happens in 
cases of mental imbecility. 

Thus, although we have nothing to hope from 
these imperfect beings, it does not follow that we 
have nothing to fear. On the contrary, it often 
happens that they are very dangerous ; especially 
if they have the propensity to the sex, or that of 
killing in a high degree, so that the slightest 
cause will set the propensities in action. 1 have 
quoted, in the first volume of my large work, the 
example of a young man of fifteen years, who, in a 
brutal paroxysm of lasciviousness, so ill treated his 
sister that she died in consequence. I also spoke 
of another idiot, who, after killing the two 
children of his brother, came laughing to tell him ; 
of a third, who killed his brother, and wished to 
burn him for a funeral ceremony; finally, of a fourth 
who, as Herder relates, having seen a hog killed, 
thought he might try it on a man, and actually 
cut his throat. We saw in prison a young man, 
whom no one regarded as simple, but who, with- 
out apparent motive, killed a child. They plied 
him in vain with questions, and with threats, to 
find what had led him to commit this act. He 
merely answered, and repeated without ceasing, 
that he had seen nothing but black : "Whoever," 
said he, with a lamentable voice, " was not there, 
cannot believe me, but God will pardon me." 
The forehead of this individual is very narrow 
and depressed, that is to say, low and flat ; the 
top of his head, as in most epileptic idiots, is very 
high, and the occiput flat and compressed. There 
was in the prison of Friburg, in Brisgau, a ycung 
man of fifteen, half-simple, who had set fire to 
nine houses in succession. He used to assist in 
extinguishing the fire, and once saved a child 
who was on the point of perishing rh the flames. 
When the fire was over, he thought no more of 
it, which proves that he acted only from animal 



What happens to individuals with respect to 
theft, murder, and incendiarism, likewise takes 
place in other individuals, with respect to any- 
other organ endowed with an extraordinary 
degree of activity. The quality dependent on 
this organ, then, acts in them mechanically at 
each impulse, without any reflection, and t with very 
little consciousness. We have seen that the 
savage simpleton of Aveyron, had the singular pro- 
pensity of putting everything exactly in its place. 
Since we saw this savage, we have known a young 
man whom his parents were very unwilling to re- 
gard as simple, because, besides some intellectual 
faculties which he manifests, he has " order" re- 
markably developed. He is, however, simple in 
many respects. M. Pinel speaks of an idiot woman, 
who had a decided irresistible propensity to imitate 
all that she saw done in her presence : she re- 
peats, instinctively, whatever she hears, and imi- 
tates the gestures and actions of others, with the 
greatest fidelity, and without troubling herself 
with any regard to propriety. " We remark," says 
Fodere, "that by an inexplicable singularity, 
several of this class of individuals possessed of such 
feeble intellect, are born with a peculiar talent for 
copying, drawing, for finding rhymes, and for 
music. I have known several who have learned, by 
hemselves, to play tolerably on the organ and the 
harpsichord; and others who understand, without 
having been taught, how to repair clocks, and to 
make some pieces of mechanism. This, probably, 
depends on the more perfect organisation of the 
organ with which such an act is connected, and 
not on the understanding ; for these individuals 
not only could not read the books which treated of 
the principles of their art, but they were con- 
founded if spoken to on the subject, and never im- 
proved themselves." We knew ayoung girl, idiotic 
to a great degree, who sings with great propriety, 
and always follows the tone and the measure. 

These examples prove that the talents in 
question may exist separately ; that a particular 
propensity or talent results from the peculiar 
activity of an organ, and that there may exist 
great activity in one organ, while, in regard to 
other organs, there is actual imbecility. 

For the rest, this state having various degrees, 
we cannot affirm that, for beings so badly 
organised, all means of correction will always be 
fruitless. Lavater, however, regards these indi- 
viduals as incorrigible, and it is in the front that 
he places the signs of their incorrigibleness. 
"The short foreheads," says he, "wrinkled, 
knotty, irregular, deep on one side, slanting, or 
that always incline different ways, will never be a 
recommendation to me, and will never gain my 
friendship. While your brother, your friend, oryour 
enemy; while man, though that man were a 
malefactor, presents you a well-proportioned and 
open forehead, — do not despair of him ; he is still 
susceptible of amendment." It will be seen that 
Lavater had noticed the phenomena which I have 
described, and of which I have cited numerous 
examples. My doctrine alone gives their true 
solutions. It would be impossible to explain 
partial and incomplete imbecility, did we not 
recognise the fact that the different properties of 
the soul and mind have each their different organs, 
and that the manifestation of these properties 
depends on the organisation. 

Though these partially-imbecile individuals are 
not moral beings, nor consequently, punishable, 
the care of watching them no less pertains to the 
police; and it is indispensable to separate from, 
social commerce, all kinds of weak-minded persons 
in whom strong indications of evil dispositions are 

Application of my Principles to illegal Actions, 
which are the consequence of Mental Alienation. 

Mental alienation is either general, when the 
functions of all the faculties of soul and mind are 
disturbed, — or partial, when this derangement 
takes place only in one or several of the organs. 
Mental alienation, whether general or partial, may 
be either continued or intermittent. 

General alienation, when continued or perma- 
nent, manifests itself in a manner so evident, that 
there is no /t room for imistake l as.*itoi,its"'' existence. 
We thus run no risk of regarding the actions 
committed in this state as done with moral liberty, 
and, consequently, of rendering their authors 

It is only to', this species of alienation that the 
definition given by Locke belongs, who says that 
madness consists in a derangement of the judg- 
ment and the reason. Other writers call mental 
alienation, — the state in which one is not con- 
scious of his own actions. But this definition 
is evidently false ; for, — this absence of self-con- 
sciousness cannot be proved in any species of 
mental alienation. If it be said that the indi- 
vidual, when restored to sanity, has no recollection 
of his late madness, — I answer, first, that this 
failure of memory is not uniform ; and, secondly, 
that this, want, of recollection does notsprove that 
consciousness does not exist at the moment of 
alienation. I make it a point to rectify these